Lines of Shadow: Sequel to Between the Lines
by TresMaxwell
Summary: War is coming and it promises to cover the world in blood. Will Hellboy fulfill the prophecies or stand between mankind and the end of everything? The final chapter of the Somewhere Between trilogy. Warnings inside.
1. Prophecies

Genre: Hellboy

Warning: Yaoi or Slash, if you don't know what the word means, then you need to leave…

Pairing: Hellboy/John Myers

Rating: M- For lots of man on man sex, violence, language, the works.

Feedback: Yes please! The more feedback I get, the faster I usually work because I get inspired.

So, HB and John return for the final chapter. I just recently realized that my paragraph breaks don't show up on , so I'm going to try a different tactic this time and go back to edit the others. Changes in perspective will still be marked in the same manner.

And, finally, I march through a number of different religions and myths, using them as story fodder. If you think you might be offended, then don't read it.

- HB

The only thing more exciting than hunting ghosts is watching paint dry. Well, it might be slightly more exciting than the paint, but only just. We've been doin' this for a couple years now. Every once in a while, we get an interesting case like a homicidal ghost, but mostly it's just 'my coffee cup moves' or 'I see him walking in the halls' and most of those cases are bunk.

I know 'Scout is trying to keep me from being bored by finding these little cases to handle, it's just not even close to what we used to do. I've saved the world before… we both have in a way, so it seems a little like a demotion to ghost buster.

John's sitting in the living room with the widow of our current case and I'm upstairs in the bedroom, sweeping an EMF detector over their stuff. Naturally, I don't deal with our clients face to face, that's John's thing. I usually just sneak in through a window he opens for me and do some leg work while he interviews the witnesses. I've heard enough of their conversation to know that her dead husband is probably not the one haunting this place. She seems convinced though. Apparently the ghost keeps making the dead guy's favorite recliner move.

Through my ear bud, I listen to her yammering away, "I really wouldn't have called you, but he's starting to scare our grandchildren. Bob was such a nice man when he was alive, I don't know why he would be acting this way." This is followed by the annoyingly loud sound of her blowing her nose.

I roll my eyes. I don't get how 'Scout can listen to these people with a straight face. A ghost is not your loved one. A ghost is a ghost. Granted most people don't understand that, but very few souls that stick around are there for a good reason.

The EMF isn't giving me shit, so I drop it into my jacket pocket. I'm pretty sure the ghost didn't attach itself to one of the several dozen porcelain dog statues that are staring at me from every corner of the room. Those seem like they're probably more of her thing than his anyway. If I were a ghost, I'd be flinging those ugly, buggy-eyed pieces of glass across the room. It's no wonder he came back to haunt her ass (if it is him after all) 'cause every room in the house looks like this one. It's all flowers and dogs… The only thing that actually seems to be his in the whole damn house is the leather recliner that keeps moving on its own.

Hell, maybe it is him.

'Scout's moving through his questioning into convincing her to leave the house so we can get some real work done. Like all of our customers, she's suspicious of the request at first, but John can talk a mouse in a room full of cats into thinking that it's safe. It's the soothing 'I'm such a nice guy so you can believe anything I say' voice that he takes with them.

While I wait for him to walk her to her car, I pick up one of the dog figurines and flip it over a few times in my flesh hand. The curly tail catches on my belt and snaps off.

"Crap," I mumble.

"Hey Red, did you get any readings upstairs?" Boyscout yells from somewhere in the depths of the house.

Quickly sticking the broken pieces back onto the dresser, I leave the bedroom before he can come upstairs. "Uh, no. There's a hell of a lot of nothing going on up here. It's about a psychically active as a jar of mayonnaise."

I come out of the hall to find him standing at the base of the stairwell, one hand propped on the banister and his left foot on the first stair. His not coming up, just paused there as he looks around the living room with a puzzled expression.

"But he died upstairs. There shouldn't be anything down here tying him to the house," he muses, more to himself than me.

I lean on the banister and joke, "Maybe there's a rat living in the fucking chair and that's why it keeps moving. I'm not getting any EMF here, 'Scout." Actually, it's more fact than joke.

I trot down to join him on the landing, surveying the living room for the first time. No surprise here, but there are more of those stupid dogs on every conceivable surface. I swear, this lady has some kind of undiagnosed hoarding issue. I mean, holy fuck. Who needs so many little dog statues?

'Scout walks around the couch and pushes the recliner back so he can look at the workings underneath. While he's occupied, I pick up a metal Dalmatian and prop it on top of some kind of fluffy dog so he's humping him. Childish? Probably. Funny as hell? Abso-fuckin-lutly. I smile to myself and pull my hand away as John sits up.

"Well, I can't see anything, but we might ought to give it a quick once over with the…" he trails off, giving me the hairy eyeball. We've been living together WAY too long for anything I do to slip past him.

"What?"

His eyes narrow a little farther, "What did you do?"

"Nothin'."

Before he can really start grilling me, the EMF detector goes nuts in my pocket. I dig it out and 'Scout jumps up to see what the readout says. He leans in close enough that I can see his blonde roots. John can't stand being blonde. I told him I didn't give a shit what color his hair is, but he still dyes it brown every two weeks. Getting close to time again.

"That's a massive frequency. Why is only just now going off, shouldn't it have been reading this kind of activity all along?"

"Yeah, it should've been. I don't think we're dealing with some lingering old guy," I tell him, pulling the EMF away so I can swing it around the room. The signal is strong no matter what direction I move it in. This thing isn't trapped in one object, it's almost like it's in the walls.

'Scout and I aren't very well received by spirits. Between me being a demon and him being an angel, we're liable to piss them off no matter what afterlife they're supposed to be headed towards. What'll really be telling is who it throws shit at first. If it's me, then it's just some lost soul that needs a little guidance. If it's John, it's an evil bastard that's going to be tough to put down.

A picture frame rattles loose from the wall and makes a kamikaze dive at 'Scout's head. He ducks and exchanges a knowing look with me. It's an evil fucker then. I dig through my pockets for Dad's rosary.

It hasn't been long enough for the dead husband to twist into an evil soul, so my bet is that it's not a ghost. Whatever it is, it's smart enough to mimic him by touching his favorite objects and keep the widow calm about its presence. Damn thing is probably feeding off of her. Unfortunately, that doesn't narrow things down too much. There's still a couple hundred of different creatures it could be and they have a lot of different disposal methods.

I wind the rosary around my hand, putting the cross in my palm. It settles almost perfectly into the scar from Russia. "Alright, come on out," I whisper, dropping the EMF onto the coffee table. It continues to screech loudly for a few seconds before going dead.

"What does that mean?" 'Scout asks.

Honestly, I've got no clue.

In the far corner of the room, a small storm radio clicks on, hissing with static. Through the crackle, I can faintly hear a voice. The static clears a little at a time until we can understand it, "Slayer of Lucifer, leader of the armies of hell, Anung un Rama. Behold your kingdom is the kingdom of man…"

Not this bullshit again.

'Scout walks over and fiddles with the dials, but nothing happens. "Do you think it's some kind of demon?" he asks and turns to look at me.

"Don't know yet," is the best answer I can give him. "It knows my real name, so that can't be good."

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the air in the middle of the room start to move, almost like when you can see the heat coming off asphalt. Two burning points appear in the air first, followed by the rest of the manifestation. The points become its eyes as its body swims into focus. It takes the shape of a little girl, but it's doubtful that this is its real form.

It's still talking through the radio, "Your kingdom will be built of their flesh and bone. Your fountains will run with their blood. Your keep will be held up by the backs of mortal men and the mortal woman will lay naked at your feet…"

This really isn't the same bullshit I've heard before; this is more about me being some kind of replacement Satan. So I've been upgraded from the guy who opens the door to the guy that sits on the throne? Since when? I think people need to start getting all these prophecies straight before they start preaching them at me.

I hold the cross out in front of me and the spirit flickers and shrinks back, its dark, heavy hair writhing like a nest of snakes. As I reach for the vial of holy water on my belt, the manifestation hisses and vanishes. The radio goes silent the moment she's gone.

"Well, that could've been worse," John croaks out a small laugh, his breath misting as it hits the air.

Frost crawls up the windows as the temperature drops at a rapid rate. It's another solid ghost sign, but there's no way this thing's been hiding in this house since the old couple moved in without them knowing about it. There's just no way. The glass in one of the picture frames fractures as the cold reaches it. The family photo disappears beneath a layer of ice crystals.

"Red?" 'Scout draws out my name, clearly getting uneasy. He's got his gun drawn, but I don't think it's going to do us any good.

The spirit reforms to John's left, hissing at him. I have to resist the urge to try and grab the thing to yank it away from him. 'Scout's plenty agile enough to keep himself safe. He throws a handful of salt at the manifestation and darts to the side, taking cover behind the couch. Using salt is a bit like throwing water onto a wasp's nest. It'll slow them down a little, but it pisses them off more than anything.

Boyscout pulls out his chant cheat book. It's a collection of old spells and powerful chants I helped him put together so he'd have a better idea of what he could use against the angry undead. Without knowing exactly what this thing is though, there's no way he can just pick a chant at random and have it work. Besides, I've told him a hundred times that stopping in the middle of a fight to look at that thing is going to get him killed.

"Damn it, 'Scout! You still don't have that thing memorized yet?" I yell. I meant to sound a bit angrier, but it somehow ends up coming out like I'm teasing him.

"Shut up!"

The spirit starts chunking everything at the couch that's not bolted down. A few things bounce over, but most of it sails harmlessly over John's head and crashes into the far wall. For a minute or two, he'll be safe back there.

I survey the room quickly for options. What I really need to do is trap this thing until we can figure out what it is and how we can kill it. There's a thick shag rug underneath the coffee table. It would soak up holy water very nicely. No matter what this thing is, if it's from hell, holy water will ruin its day.

I unscrew the lid on my vial of holy water and very carefully dump a bag of salt into it. A little extra insurance can't hurt. Kicking the coffee table aside, I start drawing symbols on the rug with the concoction. I encircle the entire mess with the remnants of my salt and wipe my hands off on my pants. In order for the sealing circle to work, I have to get the manifestation into the middle of it. That could be difficult.

John sticks his head out from behind cover and get's beamed by a glass poodle. As much as that sucks, it gives me an idea. I haul John to his feet by his shirt collar. He's too busy clutching his head wound and cussing to be bothered by me manhandling him. I drag him to the far side of the seal from the spirit and watch her closely.

For a few seconds, objects stop flying while she glares at us. Her hair falls flat, draping across her face in a heavy curtain. What the hell is she doing? She keeps eyeing us, not moving or attacking… almost like she's waiting for something.

I slide my left arm around 'Scout's waist and take another step backwards.

"What's going on?" he mumbles, finally coherent again.

Blood is running down the side of his face from a nasty gash in his scalp. It's matting his hair into dark clumps and soaking into his shirt. I wish he could take damage like he used to, then I wouldn't have to worry so much. He might actually need stitches this go round.

"We're trying to get the bitch to move towards us about two feet so we can put her ass to rest."

Boyscout stumbles back against me and groans, "Did I get hit by a poodle?"

I have to resist the urge to laugh. I know that's terrible, but really, how often does someone get attacked by a poodle, ceramic or otherwise? "Yeah, you did."

The apparition flickers and I'm thinking we're going to lose her again when her voice blares from the TV speakers, "Son of the witch king, take up your mantel. Kill the foundling of the Archangel Michael before he can raise arms against your worthy cause! Kill him!"

I brush my lips against the shell of John's ear as I ask him, "You plannin' on building an army against me?"

"Only if you don't stop drinking straight out of the orange juice jug," he laughs softly.

I straighten up and yell at her, "You want him so bad, come and get him!" Yeah, sure I joke about it, but these prophecies have never included John before and that worries me a hell of a lot more than crazy ghost bitches who inflict head wounds.

'Scout reaches back, his fingers brushing my hip as he wraps his hand around my gun. I've got it loaded with my specialty bullets so she'll definitely be sent screaming if she gets shot with one… I'm just not sure that it'll kill her. 'Scout's taking the precaution since my hands are full holdin' him up. It's unlikely that she'll get past my holy water/salt ring, but there's always that slim chance when you're dealing with an entity that's not solid. There's always something that can go wrong.

The spirit's hair returns to its snake-nest mode so I brace 'Scout a little tighter against me. "You ready for this?" I ask.

He tenses slightly but doesn't get a chance to answer. The spirit comes hurdling towards us. I take in a breath and hold it, getting ready to move 'Scout out of the way if I need to. John pulls my gun.

The manifestation slams into the holding circle like it's an invisible wall. It scrabbles against the edges with its fingers, screeching loud enough to break glass. Literally. Fractures race across the picture frames and windows and the TV screen explodes in a shower of fragments. The sound is so loud that 'Scout and I have to cover our ears.

"How do we make it stop?" John yells, but I can barely make out his words.

I grab the gun from him and empty every round into the bitch. Her screech gets a little sharper and I'm seriously considering gouging out my eardrums when she suddenly goes quiet.

"Oh thank god," 'Scout mumbles and drops his hands from his ears. There's a little blood crawling down his earlobe. I'm fairly certain it's not from his head wound.

The spirit flickers like she's trying to dissipate, but the circle holds her. I'm thinking that it would be a good time for 'Scout to use one of the incantations he should have memorized.

I gently maneuver 'Scout upright and let him go. Apparently the head wound doesn't have a concussion hiding underneath it, 'cause he seems stable enough. "Alright, why don't you get some practice here?"

John gives me an annoyed sidelong look that I know WAY too well, "Practice? Practice what? I think I can safely be called a veteran in my field at this point."

I shouldn't take the opportunity to get a verbal jab in, but he set himself up for it. I shouldn't, but I can't help myself, "Says the guy that got hit by a poodle 'cause he can't keep his head down."

His eyes narrow sharply. If he were still a wolf, they would've turned yellow. 'Scout points at me, clearly wanting to say something snide back but nothing good comes to him. Instead, he makes a threat that's extremely hollow, "No sex for you."

I snort. 'Scout saying he's going to deny me sex is like a kid saying he's going to hold his breath until he gets his way. I give him six hours, tops. We do it a couple times a day now if we're bored, and if we've got a good case, we screw because we get riled up. It's almost like an addiction. Before Eden, 'Scout and I had a great relationship with a healthy amount of sex. Now, it's like someone slips a Viagra into our coffee each morning.

Let's me make something very clear here, I'm NOT complaining. I'm not. What guy in his right mind would complain about too much sex? I can't think of a single exception… except maybe a eunuch. Do they count? Point is, it's like we can't get enough no matter how often we do it. The only explanation- no, it's more like a theory. The only theory I have is that angels and demons are more than just compatible, they're magnetically attracted to each other… I don't know. Like I said, I'm not complaining.

'Scout circles the trapped spirit, studying her carefully before leafing through his cheat guide. I've got a pretty good idea of which incantation to use, but he needs to figure some things out on his own. I started learning this shit in the forties, so I've got a few decades on him…

The spirit's gotten really damn quiet. It's much better than the angry screeching from before, but it makes me wonder if she's planning something. There shouldn't be a whole helluva lot she can do from inside that circle… I think.

"Shouldn't the Prayer of Solomon help her rest?" 'Scout asks without looking up from his book.

"Nah, Solomon's more for demon and possessions."

I smirk and flop down on the couch to wait. It creaks and gives way a little and my smirk turns into a wince. We've already done a shitload of damage to this lady's living room so I'd rather not add the couch to the list. Although, it is a hideous floral pattern, so I'd really be doing her a favor.

"You know, I could probably find whatever's keeping her bound to this house before you figure out what chant gets rid of her," I tease, nudging 'Scout's leg with my tail.

"But she's not a regular spirit. She's clearly been feeding off the widow, so…" His brow scrunches up while he thinks. I sorta' miss the days when he tilted his head to one side when he was trying to figure something out.

A massive cracking sound splits through the quiet. It's almost earthquake loud, like stone splitting in two.

"What the hell?" I grunt and haul myself back to my feet.

Oh shit, the bitch is smiling.

She isn't some average ghost. She's something much, much worse. I look down and realize that the cracking sound was the cement foundation fracturing. The rip runs right through my sealing circle, making it useless.

"Shit! 'Scout, get down!"

The screeching starts again the instant she's out. If it was bad before, it's ten times worse now. I can feel her voice in my bones. 'Scout and I grab our ears and 'Scout drops to one knee. The spirit lifts off the ground, her hair flying like somebody plugged her into an electrical outlet. All around us, I barely catch the sound of windows shattering.

"She's a banshee," I try to shout, but my voice doesn't make it to my ears, let alone 'Scout's.

The noise is liquefying my brain… I can't think. 'Scout curls up over his knees. His mouth is open so I know he's screaming. I've got to get him out of here. I stagger to my feet, using the couch for support. My specialty bullets make her shut up last time, but I'm out. Can't think! What can we use on her?

'Scout opens his eyes and I swear I'm seeing things. His eyes are solid white, no pupil, no iris, nothing. This iridescent white smoke drifts out of them, like he's a Halloween decoration full of dry ice. His lips start moving and the Banshee goes silent, shrinking back from him. My ears keep ringing, but I can hear him now. I can't understand it, but I can hear it. It's not any language I've ever encountered. It sounds like it's rooted in Latin… or Latin was rooted in it. Where did he learn that?

Whatever it is, it's effective. The Banshee backs away from 'Scout, hissing softly. His words get louder, sharper, so he's almost shouting and white light shoots out of the Banshee's eyes and mouth. The light intensifies until it looks like its skin is glowing, and then it sort of explodes in this bright flash that blinds me for a second.

I have to blink a couple times before I can even see shapes again. Vaguely, I register that 'Scout gets to his feet. "Where the fuck did that come from?" I ask him, rubbing the back of my flesh hand against my eyes.

His voice is quiet, uncertain, "I… I don't know."

Once my vision clears up, I look around at all the damage we've caused. Broken windows, frames, TV fragments and pieces of stupid ceramic dogs are scattered everywhere. There's no way we're getting paid for this. We'll be lucky if this lady doesn't sue our asses.

"Uh, 'Scout… Let's say fuck the payment and get out of here."

He gnaws his lower lip a little (an action that sends blood rushing straight to my dick, mind you) and slowly starts to nod, "Yeah, let's do that."

We pick through the minefield that used to be a living room and book it out the back door. 'Scout leaves a wad of cash on the kitchen counter on our way out. I almost pick it up, since we could use it after scrapping this job, but 'Scout's gotta feel like he made things right here. I leave it behind, cussing the fact with every step.

'Scout easily vaults the wooden fence that backs the alley where we left the truck. I wait until I hear a muffled "All clear" before I follow. The fence groans under my weight but doesn't collapse.

I land on a fucking trashcan. The plastic buckles and I fall to one side, cracking the cement with my stone hand when I throw it out to catch myself. A little WARNING would've been NICE! I start to say as much, but 'Scout's already getting in the SUV. I prop what's left of the trashcan against the fence and climb in behind the driver's seat. Our windows are tinted so dark that we look like gangsters, but I still have to ride in the back. Can't tint the windshield.

For a long time, we ride in silence. 'Scout seems agitated. Scrapping a job definitely isn't optimum considered the BPRD isn't funding us anymore, but I doubt that's what's bothering him. 'Scout makes a shitload of money contracting for private security firms. With his Quantico training and time working for the military (what BPRD labeled his time with them), everybody jumps all over him to get an opinion about their current level of security.

I reach forward and rub my flesh hand along his shoulder and arm, smiling as he leans into my touch. "What's eatin' you?" I ask.

'Scout sighs. Once we're stopped at a red light, he pulls his hands off the wheel and presses his palms against his eyes. "I don't know, just… I was finally adjusted to being a wolf and now I have this whole new slew of weirdness to get used to again," he mutters. "Like what happened in there. I don't even know what language that was, but it came to me like I was born-"

The blare of a car horn interrupts him and John steps on the gas. Guess the light turned green and we missed it.

"It came to me like I was born speaking it. It's…"

I trail my fingers up so I'm stroking his neck, supplying, "You want to know what to expect."

"Yeah," he admits with another very defeated sigh.

I don't know what to say to him. It's hard to be different, especially living out in the open like we have been, but I've always been this way. 'Scout flipping between human, and wolf, and angel has got to be harder than I can imagine… not that I'm particularly imaginative. No matter what change he makes, he's still John.

Pressing a kiss to the back of 'Scout's neck, I try to get him thinking about something else, "Remember that first day you came into my room holdin' those Baby Ruths like you could fend me off with them?"

He chuckles a little and nods, "I was trying not to stare at your abs so I ended up staring at your horns."

"Didn't know that at the time," I laugh. I'd been so pissed off with him, mostly because he was yet another agent getting shoved at me with a curt 'play nice' from the old agent who didn't want to work with me anymore… How many agents did I go through before John? I can't even remember anymore.

"How long before we get back?" I breathe against his hair, sliding my hand across his stomach and slowly edging it down.

Predictably, 'Scout snags my hand before I can get anywhere good. He lets go and answers, "Way too long for that, almost forty-five minutes. I'd take a nap if I were you."

I worm my hand under the bottom edge of his shirt and he tries to stop me without looking away from the road. He does manage to grab the rosary twisted around my wrist.

"Let me drive, Red!" 'Scout says in a voice that wants to be a warning but comes nowhere close.

I drop back into my chair anyway, not fighting the grin that breaks out. 'Scout glares at me in the rearview mirror, but it only makes my grin wider.


	2. Reunion

Um, fair warning, there's a little Tail! in here. I'm sorry, it's a new fetish.

- John

The minute we're in the house, Red's got the TV on and has dropped into the giant armchair we brought with us from the Bureau. No way is he going to tease me like that in the car and just forget about it. I veer to the left off the entryway and down the hall to our bedroom.

Tugger, a tabby, comes out from under the dresser to rub against my legs. He's one of the three cats we managed to trim the pride down to. Moving out of the Bureau meant we could potentially catch the eye of animal control. BPRD set us up in a house about seventy miles outside of Clifton, New Jersey. We've got a half-dozen acres of land around the house, but we still have to be careful. Anything that could get us noticed is out of the question. After a few days of very heated arguments, HB eventually agreed that forty-something cats could do just that.

I scratch Tugger's back, earning a small purr, and toe off my shoes. Heading into the bathroom, I shrug out of my shirt, jeans, and underwear as I walk. The lube is still on the counter where Red left it last night. I grab the tube and freeze when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

My hair is matted with blood. The gash on my head isn't bleeding anymore, but I'm a mess. There's a wide trail of coagulated blood leading from my hairline, down my jaw and throat, and to the point where my shirt absorbed it. I stick my head under the faucet and gingerly rinse the mess out of my hair. Once the water is running clear again, I take a washcloth to the side of my face to scrub away the rest. It takes a few minutes before I'm satisfied. HB won't care, but I do.

I grab the lube again and cut through the back hall that takes me to the kitchen. If I'm going to streak, I want to surprise Red so I can get a close look at his expression. The couch and chair face away from the kitchen, so I should be able to slip into his lap and smack him with a little shock factor.

When I poke my head into the living room, HB is still rooted in front of the TV. He's tuned into the news, but his tail is hanging over the armrest and I can see that it's twitching slightly. He won't stay on the channel very long because it's boring him. His tail curls back on itself as Red flips stations. I'm not paying any attention to what he changed it to because an idea just struck me… or at least my dick.

I move quickly, coming around HB and throwing my legs across his hips before he can do anything but raise his eyebrows.

"Oh, what-"

My mouth crashes against his, killing whatever quip he was going to throw out. Red's stone hand curls heavily across the back of my hips, yanking me forward to press against his chest. An approving growl rolls out of Red as his hands roam over my bare skin. My pleasant shudder is enough to make him smile into our kiss. I tug at his shirt, encouraging him to lean forward so I can pull it over his head. When he tries to resume our lip lock, I lay my fingers against his mouth.

"Wait, I want to try something new."

I swear that's Red's favorite sentence. His expression manages to be both surprised and slightly predatory at the same time. I'm already squeezing some of the lube into my hand when he asks, "What're you thinkin', baby?"

Tossing the lube to the side, I lean in until my nose is brushing his, breathing the hot air that he exhales as I grab his tail and slick it with lube. His eyes flick to my hand and back again, glinting gold in the light from the TV. The smirk that spreads on his face looks almost evil. For half moment, I'm wondering whether or not this was a good idea.

"You look like you want to eat me," I whisper.

He kisses me and tongues my lower lip, "Fuck yeah."

Red shifts his thighs open, forcing mine as wide as the armchair will allow. The only warning I get before Red's tail sinks into me is the heat of his skin against the inside of my legs. It's not what I was expecting, at all really. His tail is much skinnier than his cock, but I haven't exactly had any prep, so it burns a little. With HB's size, there's always some pain. I'm used to that.

At first, he just pushes it in a few inches, drawing it out and thrusting it a little deeper. Red's mouth falls on my shoulder, my neck, my collarbone, biting and sucking until my head is swimming. His mouth is better than his tail… I just keep thinking about that twisting thing he does with it sometimes. I don't even know if it's something he can do voluntarily, but I'm hoping.

"Red," I groan as his tail brushes my prostate. "Will you… twist it?"

Red pauses, arching one brow as he repeats, "Twist it?"

I'm not making myself very clear and I doubt I'm going to be able to muster up a decent explanation with my blood leaving my brain in favor of my smaller, more excitable head. I try to mimic the motion with my hands but it looks… awkward.

"Shit," I grumble and drop my head onto his shoulder. I'm just aroused enough to be a complete idiot when I talk. "That thing that you do when you're annoyed, when you, you know… sorta'…"

He hums some sort of acknowledgment and asks with an amused lilt to his voice, "Like this?"

His tail _writhes_ inside of me and I can't stop my unadulterated groan of ecstasy. Pleasure roars up my body, making my hands curl and uncurl against Red's chest without any prompting from me. My mouth falls open and for a moment I can't breathe.

"Oh god," comes out with my long awaited exhale.

Red does it again, but times it with a sharp thrust upward and my mind goes blank. I barely recognize the sounds coming out of my mouth then, but I can tell they're affecting Red. I turn my face into his skin, breathing deep the scent of his arousal. I can't smell it as well as I could as a wolf, but it's still enough to make me dizzy. It's musky and sharp, a bit like the smell a forest gets after a hard rain. Mixed with the tang of his sweat and the lingering bitterness of cigar smoke, it's a scent that can make me horny much faster than anything else.

Not that there is any lack of stimulation in this relationship.

My wings spasm inside my back as orgasm drifts within reach (Don't try and figure out the physics of me being able to keep a ten foot wingspan inside my body, Blue and I tried for almost a month before we wrote it off to celestial magic). I grab at Red's belt buckle, jerking the stiff leather out of the catch. "Come on, Red."

He pushes his tail in deeper, almost too far, and curls it hard against my prostate. "Wings, now," he growls and finishes undoing his pants.

His dick springs free, hard and heavy against his stomach. My eyes follow it hungrily. Red slides his tail out of me, adjusting my hips so he can get his dick in position. While he's slicking himself with some spit since the lube landed who knows where, I close my eyes and try to remember which new muscle controls my wings. I don't use them much, except during sex… actually, I don't think I've ever had them out for any other reason.

"Wings, baby," he growls again, pressing the head of his cock into me.

I find the muscles and roll my shoulders backwards to ease my wings out. HB licks the hollow of my throat, urging me to tilt my chin up a little more. His fingers work into my feathers. It's all I need to set off my orgasm.

White-hot ripples coarse through me, cascading up my spine and making my wings twitch and flex. My cum plasters our stomachs, gluing our skin together. I can already feel my penis getting hard again. Red hooks his palms behind me knees and lifts my legs, forcing me down onto his cock.

I'm not sure who groaned. I think it was me, but pressed so tight against Red's chest, I could've felt him make the sound. Although, it was more needy and less growled, so I'd bet good money that it was me. I close my eyes to savor the feeling of his pulsing, ridiculously hot cock inside me and when I open them, everything is white.

What…

It's not white like I've just orgasmed again white, it's like someone tied a bandanna over my eyes kind of white. And then I notice that everything is completely silent too. I can't hear Red's breathing or feel his body heat… I look around frantically, hoping something will change. "Red, I can't see." My words are so loud in my ears, like I'm talking in a tiny, enclosed space.

What's going on?

"Red?"

I don't get an answer of any kind.

"Hellboy," my voice cracks a little. Panic is not unusual for me, as sad as that is to admit, but I think losing all my senses at once is a very good reason to panic. Any sane person would… right?

"Forgive the intrusion," a quiet, unfamiliar voice says from behind me.

I whip around to face a man who's slightly taller than I am. Though his feet look like he should be standing on something solid, he's just floating in the white void that took the place of my regular sight. He has long blonde hair that curls down his back in heavy waves and his gaze is old, almost fathomless. His most striking feature is his right hand, which looks like it's been carved from white marble. I've only met him once, but I remember him well enough.

"Michael?"

He barrels through introductions because he either knows he really doesn't need one or doesn't care, "My time is limited, but I must tell you what I can."

"Wait, what? Why are you here at all? And how the hell did you-"

Michael cuts me off by lifting one hand with the palm facing forward. Even with as completely confused as I am, I feel like I should abide by the simple gesture. Something is wrong here, very, very wrong. There are bloodstains on his robes and I think they might be his. Isn't the archangel Michael supposed to be a great warrior? Who could do this kind of damage to him?

"I'm sorry to call upon you so soon after your creation, but I need your help. You must go to Cairo to collect an artifact I've left behind. It is no longer safe with me. There is someone there who can teach you how to use it-"

A loud banging noise draws Michael's attention to something over his shoulder, something I can't see. Whatever he's using to communicate with me has a very limited field of vision. He turns back after a moment and his form gets much larger, almost filling my mind's eye. "I haven't the time to explain anything else. You must find those loyal to mankind. Your partner can bring them together, he can lead them. Even if it's hidden beneath layers of brashness, he has a gift. Help him use it."

"Why us? Why me?" I have too many questions and no answers.

Michael smiles. It looks wrong on him, like his face might crack from the effort. "Because you are made of my flesh and blood. You are the only angel with a human soul. I have faith that you will be the one to end this."

Another voice chuckles. The sound is dead, ugly. It sends a chill through me. "There's no need for faith anymore, Michael. Or haven't you noticed that He's not listening?"

Michael turns and is immediately slammed backwards. I throw my arms up like he might run into me, but instead there's a cracking sound and the entire image fractures into smaller pieces. Everything is black for a moment. I'm beginning to think that the communication was broken, but Michael is lifted away and turned until I can see who is attacking him. He's tall and built, covered from his shoulders down in medieval-style armor that's streaked with blood. His hair has the same curl as Michael's, but it's dark, so dark it almost seems to absorb the light that hits it.

The attacker grins, holding Michael aloft by his robes, "Why don't you fight me, Michael? I'm offended."

I should not be here. Whoever this being is, he's extremely dangerous and I don't want him to see me. I don't want him to know about me… I don't want to get in a fight with him. Just looking at him scares me, actually. I don't know why, since very few monsters can inspire real terror in me anymore and this thing looks fairly human, but it feels like sharp icicles are working their way into my muscles. My heart is hammering so hard I swear he can hear it.

Michael glances in my direction, wrapping his flesh fingers around the other man's gauntlet as he says, "And thou shalt not harm thy brother because he is of thy blood. To shed thy brother's blood is to shed thy own…"

"Then I suppose we'll both be dead," the dark-haired being states calmly, drawing a large sickle from his side. The metal almost seems to hiss as it leaves the sheath.

He slices across Michael's neck in one easy move. Blood gushes onto the broken screen, filling my vision with red. I blurt out a loud "No!" before I can think twice. "Oh god, oh god," I whisper, knowing that the attacker must have heard me. What am I supposed to do? I want to wake up, to get out of here, to turn this… this… whatever it is, off!

A dark shape wipes the blood off enough of my vision that I can see the attacker's cold, calculating gaze staring straight at me. My throat closes when my eyes lock with his. He smiles and I swear my heart stops.

"So you're the one."

The image shatters, but his cackling laughter rings in my ears.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Why Cairo?" Hellboy asks for about the tenth time.

After we got past the fact that I had a conversation with Michael while I was unconscious, I tried to explain what happened. I know HB is confused, but I don't have any more to go on than he does.

I've pulled a suitcase out from under the bed and am going back and forth between that and the dresser. Every time I want to put something in the suitcase, I have to move Sammy (a tiny Calico) out of the way. She tries to curl up on each new layer of clothing. Finally, I toss her into the bathroom and shut the door, disregarding her annoyed yowl.

"I don't know, Red. He just told me to go to Cairo. Something is happening out there, something huge."

Red grabs my arm gently, maneuvering me so he can look me in the eyes, "But why are we getting involved?"

The worry on his face is hard to ignore. Red loved his work at the Bureau, it was the one thing he was really good at, but he gave that up to keep me safe. I'm not blind to that. It's just that something about the attack on Michael has been eating at me. Something that won't let me just stand aside.

"Because we have to," I say quietly, putting my hand over his stone one.

When I pull away to keep packing, I notice Red's tail curl with frustration (I've never going to look at THAT the same way again.) "No, we don't," he raises his voice. It's not quite a yell, but its close. "This is bullshit. It's not our fight and we don't need to make it our fight!"

I feel my own exasperation rising and try to push it down. "Red, if what I think it going on is really happening, it's going to be everyone's fight," I try to reason with him, going to the closet to gather our weapons.

Red fills the closet door with his body, pinning me in. I ignore the act for the moment, shoving our hanging clothes aside so I can get to the guns hidden behind them.

"'Scout," he starts, trailing off while he watches me.

I study our unique array of weapons, trying to decide what we might need. I don't even know what we're fighting, so how am I supposed to know whether holy water or silver or regular lead will do the trick? I pick up a box of nine-millimeter shells for my handgun, musing aloud, "Should I bring the hollow tips, or…"

"Neither," Red grouses, taking the box of bullets from me and pushing them back onto the shelf. "We're staying home. Let someone else handle this."

"Michael came to us! Who else-"

Red cuts in, "He came to us because he has something to hold over our heads! He brought you back from the dead and thinks that it's going to make me feel obligated to help him! Fuck him!"

We glare at each other for a long time. I don't know what to say to him, except to bring up the fear that's been chewing up my insides. When he crosses his arms over his chest, I know he's not going to be the first one to break our little glaring match. I drop my eyes to the floor for a second and collect my thoughts. I don't want to have this fight. I need him to stand with me, to support me.

"Michael has the same key that you do. Whoever killed him has it now and I'm afraid that they're going to use it… Whatever he's hidden out in Egypt could help us stop all that," I admit in a low voice, raising my eyes again to meet Red's wavering glare.

His brow furrows a little as he chews on what I've said. Finally, his arms drop to his sides and he steps out of my way. I grab a few boxes of ammo and slide past him to deposit them on the bed. The suitcase is already full of our clothes, so I snag a duffle bag from the corner of the room to load our weapons.

"How are we going to get to Cairo? I can't exactly fly coach," Red sounds tired, defeated maybe.

I drop my pistol onto the bed, my guilt stirring heavily against my anger. Red leans against the dresser, resting his stone hand on the surface and shoving his flesh one deep in his pocket. He doesn't look at me, but he's not really looking at anything else either. I go to him and hook my arms around his waist. Automatically, he mirrors the action.

"We need to do this," I say, letting my head rest against his shoulder. "Please tell me you're with me."

His hand trails up and down my spine a few times before he answers me, "I go where you go. You know that."

We stand there for almost ten minutes, Red petting my back and hair. This whole thing is making him nervous. I'm not sure why he's not throwing out more jokes, but it's pretty easy to tell even without them. Watching me die changed him a little. He's still brash and loud and inappropriate at all the right times, but then he has moments like this when he's got to hang onto me like I'm some kind of dream that will vanish if he doesn't.

"I think we should go back to the BPRD. They can help us get out to Egypt," I suggest.

Red sort of snorts at the idea, "All you've got to go on is a weird hallucination you had during sex. How are you going to convince them to loan us a plane?"

That's an excellent question, even if he could've used more tact when phrasing it. I'm the only one who's deeply convinced that what I saw is real. And it's not just a plane we're asking to borrow, it's a pilot and crew…

Maybe we can figure it out on the road.

"Come on, pick out what weapons you're taking and let's get going," I say, smacking his chest with an open palm and pointing at the closet.

No surprise, he grabs the Samaritan and a large selection of trinkets that I haven't even begun to learn the purpose of. After packing the weapons duffle to my liking and leaving a few trays of food out for the cats, we get on the road.

I kind of forgot that Red didn't get off (I was a bit busy with the Michael dying thing) but it becomes blatantly apartment during the hour and a half drive to the bureau. Red keeps touched and teasing me until I have to pull the car over and jump on him. It lengthens our trip a little, but at least he stops complaining. Not that I mind, because our sex is always amazing, even when it's fast and sloppy. It takes me a few minutes to find my pants once we're finished.

It's very late when we pull up to the bureau's gates. Over the years, there's been various renovations made, including far better security at the gate. I thumb the intercom button and it takes a scan of my fingerprint. From there, I have to state my name for voice analysis and then press my finger against the call button a second time to give a blood sample. The sharp prick makes me inhale through my teeth.

A very welcome voice comes on the speaker once everything has cleared, "Your visit is unexpected but pleasant, Agent Myers. Is Red with you?"

I grin, nodding, "Yes, Blue, he is. Why are you answering the gate?"

"Well, I was awake and had a feeling you might be coming."

Red leans into the front, yelling over my shoulder, "Damn Blue, get your mind outta' the gutter."

"I doubt that I am the one located there at this time." The gate slowly opens and Abe adds, "I'll join you shortly in the garage."

Red laughs and drops back into his seat. As we pull around the building, I clear my throat.

"Hey, Red, could we omit the fact that I had this vision while we were having sex? I doubt that detail is important."

I can hear the smile in his answer, "Aw, really? You don't want our colleagues to know about-"

"Red, seriously!"

"And the tail, and-"

"You are two seconds from getting hit."

"They could take some pointers away. Could be a useful briefing."

I can feel my blush spreading at just the thought of telling anyone. It's bad enough that Blue reads minds. Poor guy has probably gleaned WAY more than he ever wanted to know from Red and me. I grab the nearest object, which turns out to be an empty to-go cup, and lob it blindly over my shoulder at him. He keeps laughing.

I pull our SUV into the garage. Red's out in a second, stretching his legs and rolling his shoulders. Even with as big as the SUV is, he's still cramped on a long drive. I follow after him, going around to the back to get our bags.

"_No one realizes how beautiful it is to travel until he comes home and rests his head on his old, familiar pillow," _Blue's voice reaches us just before he comes into view from around one the bureau's vehicles.

"You got me on that one. Who said it?" I ask, smiling.

"Lin Yutang. It is wonderful to see both of you."

Red grabs the duffle out of my hand and drops an arm over Abe's shoulders, steering him back towards the base, "So how are you fairing as the BPRD's new top agent? You gettin' things down or are you still getting your ass kicked around?"

I sigh and shake my head at Red's bluntness. Grabbing the suitcase, I tail after the two of them. He'd never admit it, but I think there are only two things Red misses about the bureau: getting into epic battles with evil and hanging out with Blue.

"I'm actually fairing surprisingly well. I've been through some vigorous training and I make sure to fit in some shooting practice every day."

The opening is too good, so I throw in, "Well, you're a step ahead of Red then. He doesn't even know where the shooting range is."

I grin at HB when he glares at me. He lifts his arm off Blue's shoulders, gives me a light smack on the chest, and takes the suitcase from me. "Smart ass," might be what he grumbles, but I can't be sure.

After living so many years as a wolf, it's like my senses are stuffed with cotton all the time. I miss knowing what's going on around me. I mean, I know what's going on, but I used to REALLY know. I could hear how fast someone's heart was beating, smell my target from miles away, see without turning on the lights... My last year as a wolf was awful, but strangely, I miss it.

"So why are you headed to Cairo?" Abe asks, cutting straight to the quick of things as usual.

"We don't really know, we're just going on what Michael told John-"

Blue jumps in. The question is devoid of an emotion, but I swear I can feel the disbelief in it, "In a dream?"

Heat crawls across my face. I wish I didn't have to be here for this conversation. I think about making a run to the kitchen with the 'I have to feed Red' excuse, but I doubt it'll fly since I bought him fast food on the way over.

"Sorta'. Boyscout passed out and when he woke up, he was babbling about somebody executing Michael and that we need to go to Cairo," Red fills him in as we reach the conference room. Thank god no one else is here yet. Red throws our bags onto the floor and drops into one of the black leather chairs, propping his boots up on the table. Flecks of dried mud fall on to the polished wood.

I smack the toe of his boots and he slides them off, frowning slightly. "They're filthy. I wouldn't let you put them on our coffee table like that."

"Yes, mom," he replies snidely, smirking at me.

Completely ignoring our exchange, Blue starts going over things, "Leonitus is on the way now. We'll give him the brief we have and hopefully we can convince him to loan you a plane. By the sound of things, you could run into trouble out there."

"I'm hoping," Red says.

I sit down in the chair next to him and pray that the growing knot in my stomach goes away. Red might be looking forward to the prospect of a good fight, but I'm getting the feeling that we're headed into something that the word 'trouble' does not even begin to cover.


	3. Artifact

- John

Within two hours, we're on a plane headed east. Blue managed to coerce the general into letting him come along, but he's only allowed to stay until another case pulls him away. I'm not sure how, but Red manages to get me to play poker with the two of them. It's almost an exercise in futility since I always know when Red's bluffing, he always knows when I'm bluffing, and we can't hide anything from Blue.

A few of the agents Blue brought along get into the game and that helps a bit. After a while, we're tossing around tiny bets and a lot of bullshit. It's nice to be part of a group again, even if it's just for a little while. Blue's current agents are friendly and comfortable with Red and me. Guess they got lucky when they brought in this group. We've definitely more than our fair share of agents with shitty attitudes.

One of the agents finishes telling some kind of filthy joke and HB throws his head back to laugh. I smile at his reaction. It's been too long since we've been in the company of friends.

"Then you should come visit more often," Blue says softly.

I fold my hand and toss it on the table. It was crap anyway. "Yeah, we're just kind of worried that we won't be entirely welcome. I mean, we did just take off and let the Bureau fend for itself."

Red hasn't noticed the conversation Abe and I are having. I'm sure he'd have thrown something in if he had. I roll my eyes to the ceiling when I realize that he's telling an even filthier joke than the one Agent Arnold just told. I ignore it and turn back to Blue.

"You and Hellboy were free to leave as you saw fit. You were not prisoners of the Bureau," Blue supplies as he tosses a fifteen-cent raise on the table.

I nod, "I know, but Red's kind of held up the operation since it was founded…"

"And I feel I have done an adequate job as a replacement. Honestly John, you did leave with the stipulation that we could call Red if we uncovered something we couldn't handle."

True, we did. I, however, was not included in the stipulation and that was the one point that HB made VERY clear. Of course, the Bureau hasn't asked for his help once. HB tries to act like it doesn't bother him.

"Should we start calling him for old time's sake? I'm sure he'd be happier if he had more to do," Blue offers in a near whisper, obviously not wanting Hellboy to overhear.

I watch Red finish his joke and slap Agent Arnold's back as they laugh together. Red always complained that being stuck at the Bureau with nothing to do was a form of torture, but being stuck at our house with nothing to do isn't much of an improvement. Same problem, different cage.

"Might not be a bad idea," I respond.

Abe scoops the cards off the table and does a quick shuffle and deal. Red flashes a goofy grin in my direction when he picks up his new hand. I smirk back, knowing he turned over something good. My guess would be a three of a kind or better. I slide my cards off the supply crate we've been using as a table. Best I've got is a pair of fours and the deal doesn't make it much better.

"Fold," I grumble, dropping my hand.

"You know this is a game about bluffing, right?" Red teases me.

"Oh hush," I grouse with little conviction.

I get up and nudge Red's arms out of the way so I can climb into his lap. We get settled quickly. Red lays his stone hand against his knee so he can support my back and I turn my face into his side. He doesn't pause when it gets to be his turn, throwing some change on the table.

"Raise ya thirty cents."

One of the agents snickers and annoyance quickly covers my desire to nap. He'd better not be laughing at me. Before I can even get a glare ready, Red asks him, "What?" in a tone I know is a warning.

I roll my head to the side so I can watch the agent's reaction. He's smiling, clearly not intimidated.

"Nothing, man. It's just cool how he doesn't even have to say anything to you and you know what he wants. I never know what my girlfriend wants and she always gets pissed off cause I'm not a mind reader," he explains cheerfully, dropping his hand onto the table. "Two pair, nines high. What've you got?"

The other agent tossed his hand, "Not much."

Unless Abe's got something awesome, HB's won this hand. Almost on cue, Blue hums and sets his hand on the table, "I believe I have lost."

"I'm not a mind reader, that's more Abe's thing. You just get to know somebody after fifty-two-"

I correct him, "Fifty-three."

"Yeah, and I've had to put up with that all fifty-three years too," Red says with a smirk. "By the way, I've got a straight flush, so read 'em and fuckin' weep." He scoops up the change and piles it in front of him with a self-satisfied chuckle.

Since I'm not being verbally attacked after all, I turn my face into Red's ribcage and let myself drowse. It's not long before the deep rumbling of his voice puts me to sleep.

- HB

We land in Cairo in the middle of the day. I guess it'll be a while before we can get out there… Like I know what the hell we're looking for. 'Scout doesn't seem to know either. The only information we've got is that Michael left something in Cairo. Talk about finding a needle in a haystack except we don't know which haystack it's in, we're not even sure if we're on the right farm. Hell, we don't even know if we're really looking for a needle!

Fuck the haystack metaphor… it's pissin' me off.

"So, what now?" I ask once the pilot has reappeared from the cockpit and we're all standing around looking at each other like a bunch of idiots.

For a second or two, nobody's got an answer. 'Scout is the first one to move. He goes to the supply cabinet and pulls out a communications box, sticking the speaker-bud in his ear. "I'm going to start looking," he states.

I take the other half of the equipment automatically when he holds it out, even though I'm thinkin' I really don't want him going anywhere without me. I state the obvious, hoping it'll help, "But we don't even know what the hell we're looking for."

He gets the wireless mic fastened to his shirt. When he turns it on, the other speaker squeals in the box I'm holding. I'm glad I didn't have that thing jammed in my ear. "Maybe it'll jump out at me, I don't know. Michael had to have a way for us to find it."

"Or he forgot to tell you everything because he was busy being assassinated." I get a look for that. Poor choice of words I guess. I try to remedy it with, "I'm just sayin'…" Stupid… like that'll get me anywhere.

Blue jumps in, "Hellboy is right."

"I am?" I can't keep the surprise out of my voice. Has Abe ever said that out loud before? I'm pretty certain it's a first.

"We have no way of knowing whether or not Michael managed to get the entire message across. Even if it does 'jump out at you', as you put it, we cannot even be sure if the artifact is safe."

'Scout eyes both of us with annoyance. "So basically you don't think I can handle it," his statement is edged. I know better than to respond to that one honestly.

Abe, on the other hand, is as blunt as always, "It does concern me. You should wait until late in the evening so we can provide you with backup."

'Scout's posture changes slightly. As he straightens up and sets his jaw, I inhale through my teeth and lean closer to Abe so I can mutter, "Nice work pissin' him off. Say something about his lack of experience next."

Sarcastic? No, not me.

Abe waves his hands, "That is not how I meant it. I just think we should be cautious."

"Forget it," John snaps.

He unholsters his gun and slides the clip out to check his rounds. Nothing annoys Boyscout more than someone telling him he can't do something. Now there's no way I'll be able to talk him into staying here.

I grab his elbow and pull him to me, brushing some of hair out of his face, "Be careful, alright?"

"No, I was thinking more along the lines of marching into hell to start a fight," he wants it to be snarky, but I see the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

I grin too, "Sounds awesome. Bring me back a souvenir."

Dave, the shorter agent who has a shitty poker face, slaps Arnold on the shoulder and mentions, "We could go with him."

Sounds good to me, but if I want decent sex anytime today, I'll have to tell them no. "Trust me, if it's something 'Scout can't handle, you two will be way out of your league."

"Let them tag along," 'Scout says. "It'll make you feel better."

I snort and scrub my hand through 'Scout's hair so it's standing up at all angles, smiling when he tries to fix it. "Yeah, sure."

The agents take a few minutes to dress down and gather their gear. Abe and I move to the back of the plane so they can open up the cargo door without us being seen. Light floods the bay and the heat hits us a second later. Growing up on Area 51, I know hot summers, but this is so much worse than that.

I shield my eyes with my flesh hand and grunt, "You're going to need some lotion or something 'cause you'll be one shriveled fish in this heat."

"It'll cool down by nightfall," Abe responds.

'Scout's voice comes from the front of the plane. The alarm I hear in it makes me grab my gun, "Sir, this landing strip is off limits. You can't be here."

"Welcome to Cairo," is the response. His accent is thick, but I don't have any trouble understanding him.

Oh shit.

I duck behind a crate, but Abe doesn't move. "What the hell, Blue? Get down!" I hiss at him.

"It's not human," he says quietly, not tearing his eyes from the door.

"What?"

"I can feel the death on him," Abe barely whispers.

That's enough for me. I bust out of hiding and aim my gun at the guy standing at the base of the loading ramp. Ignoring John's stunned expression I yank him behind me and out of harm's way. "You lost?" I practically growl at the intruder.

Abe's agents take the hint and dart for cover. They follow my lead, aiming their pistols at him.

"Red, what the hell-" John starts but shuts up when I give his arm a slight squeeze.

The guy looks normal: tan, dark hair, slacks and a button down, but I've learned that evil can come in a lot of packages. He holds his hands up in surrender, his expression staying weirdly pleasant. "Relax my friends. Michael told me to expect you."

John sticks his head out from behind me, "Michael told you? Did he leave an artifact of some kind with you too?"

That's cool, 'Scout, show all our cards to the guy we don't know… I let out an exasperated sigh.

"Yes, he made me the keeper of his greatest weapon, but please… let's not talk here," he says with a smile, motioning at us as he leaves the ramp. "We should go to my shop."

Is this guy dense? It's broad-fuckin' daylight out there, we're not going anywhere. 'Scout quirks an eyebrow at me, clearly thinking the same thing.

"Uh, excuse me?" 'Scout yells as he tails after him.

I snag the back of 'Scout's shirt before he gets too far. I don't like this and I don't want John too close to this guy. Abe is still standing at rigid attention, his hand resting on his pistol. He's reading some weird shit here and I'm inclined to follow Abe's gut on almost anything.

The Egyptian turns at the bottom of the ramp, looking up at us, "Don't worry. I'll be able to shield your appearances from any prying eyes."

"Yeah, that's not really what I'm worried about."

'Scout backs up against me so I can let go of his t-shirt. At least he's caught on to what the rest of us already know: there is something seriously wrong with all of this.

"How the hell are we supposed to know that you work for Michael? We just supposed to take your word for it?" I ask sharply.

"Ah, I understand your concern. I do not work for Michael, we are friends."

"You are not an angel," Abe finally breaks out of his 'deer in the headlights' thing. "You are shrouded in death."

His grin is fucking creepy. I feel 'Scout shiver in response and I wrap an arm around his waist. The Egyptian moves towards us slowly which is about the only thing that keeps me from pumping him full of lead. Out of the blue, the door to the plane starts closing on its own. Nobody is anywhere near the controls and the pilot is hiding behind the equipment crates. I doubt that's a good sign.

"Let's just clear this up now, shall we?" he says in a low voice.

My finger tightens on the trigger of the Samaritan. It's so quiet on the plane that I can hear the internal springs coiling up. I blink and the Egyptian is gone, replaced by this dog-monster that's a head taller than I am. He's got black fur and long, sharply pointed ears that add another foot to his height. He's not a werewolf, wolves can't change that rapidly and I've never seen one that walks upright on its back legs.

To my left, I catch one of the agents whisper, "Holy Mother of God."

"No," the dog-thing says. I have no idea how the fuck he's talking with a snout so long, but he doesn't seem to have any trouble. "I am not part of Jehovah's work, and if you shoot me Hellboy, things are going to get very ugly." He bears his teeth a little to prove his point.

I loosen my hold on the trigger. If he was going to attack, he'd have done it by now… right? "What are you?"

John elbows me in the ribs, but I still think it's a legitimate question.

"I am Anubis, judge of souls and, though you may not believe me, Michael is my friend."

In a heartbeat, he's a man again. It's almost like changing scenes in a movie, in a fraction of a second, everything is different. He doesn't morph, or shift, or change shape at all. One minute he's a giant-ass jackal and the next he's a regular guy. I have GOT to learn how to do that.

"I hate to break it to ya' pal, but Michael is dead," it's probably not particularly tactful, but I hate to beat around the bushes.

John steps forward, "He sent us to get the artifact he left in your care. Hopefully it can help us defeat the man who killed him."

Anubis's expression darkens. His lip curls briefly before something a little closer to sorrow takes over. "Did you see his attacker? Could you describe him to me?"

I look to Boyscout 'cause I haven't heard this either. He chews his lip and I reach up to run a thumb across his mouth, "Quit." He does, fiddling with a loose string on the hem of his shirt instead. I know what he saw freaked him out bad, but watching him fidget when somebody asks him about it lets me know exactly how bad it was. The thing that killed Michael scares the hell out of John.

"He was the same height and build as Michael… they looked a lot alike actually, but he had black hair… right before he… before he killed him, Michael called him 'brother'," John explains, raising his eyes from the floor to study Anubis's reaction.

"Brother," Anubis echoes. "That's not good. We have to go, now."

The cargo door reopens and when 'Scout glances back at me, he does a double take. His eyes go so wide I can see the white all the way around his irises.

"What?" I finally ask.

"You look…"

"Normal," Abe supplies.

I'm going to throw some choice words at him, but stop when I see him. Abe looks like a tall, bald, white guy… What the fuck. I don't have time to wonder what I've changed into 'cause Anubis is yelling at us.

"Come along, it's just an illusion. We can't waste any more time."

Even with the illusion, a large group of people practically running through what seems like a marketplace tends to draw some eyes. Most of Cairo is pretty industrialized but the area he takes us through is a long way from the hotels and internet coffee shops. This place is a little closer to the roots of the city. As we hurry through, I spot vendors with handmade rugs and some kind of fruit I couldn't even begin to name and all kinds of pottery.

It's weird being outside during the day, especially surrounded by all these people. Anubis has to wave a few of the vendors off who are particularly persistent, talking at them loudly in some form of Arabic (I think). The farther we get from the airstrip, the more people there are. I was wondering why we couldn't take a car, but it would be really hard to get anywhere on these streets if you weren't walking. People are elbow to elbow trying to get around. Somebody bumps into my stone arm and I know the illusion doesn't hide the feel of it. The guy gives me a strange look as he passes.

I reach over to grab 'Scout's hand so I don't lose him in the crowd. He tightens his fingers around mine, but never stops scanning our surroundings. I doubt he's looking for threats. This is the first time 'Scout's been in Egypt so there's a hell of a lot for him to take in. This area is primarily old (or made to look old) architecture with wooden latticework windows and pointed archways. Everything is tan and I mean everything, walls, cement, people's clothes, curtains, awnings… Here and there are bright colors, but mostly, this town is the color of dust.

Anubis leads us out of the crowds and down a much quieter side alley. I look over my shoulder to make sure our numbers didn't get scattered in the hoard. 'Scout's next to me, Abe's right behind us and maybe a little worse for wear, and his two agents emerge from the main street a second or two later. Good. We stop at a door with chipping blue paint that's got faded sign hanging over it. No idea what it says.

Blue follows the words with his hand, moving it in an arc through the air as he reads, "Antiques and Collectables."

"You sell antiques?" I ask as Anubis unlocks the door. "Seems kinda' wrong since you're older than most of the shit you sell."

"You have to find something to do with eternity. Today it's antiques, tomorrow I'll work for a library, and the next day I'll try being a firefighter," he says lightly and shoves the door open with his shoulder.

Inside, it's much cooler. Abe opens a bottle of water and dumps it over his head before he steps in with us. Apparently I wasn't too far off about him drying out. "You gonna be okay?"

He nods, either not wanting to make a big deal out of it or not wanting to talk about it. I'm okay either way as long as he doesn't need a large tank of water anytime soon. Agent Arnold uncaps another bottle of water and hands it off to him.

We all spread out through the store while Anubis starts pushing some boxes around. There's a lot of regular, touristy stuff in his shop, but there's a few real items too. The older stuff looks like it's in better shape than the artifacts you normally see in museums. They're marked so astronomically high that I doubt he actually sells them.

John runs his finger across a statue of some kind of chick with a lion head and asks, "So what exactly did he leave with you? You said it was a weapon, but how will we know how to use it?"

I hear a safe clang open before Anubis answers, "You won't need to know."

'Scout and I exchange looks. What the hell could possibly considered Michael's most powerful weapon when you don't need a manual? My mind lists off a few possibilities, but nothing that seems like it could help us take on Michael's crazy brother. I never even saw Michael fight, but I could feel the power radiating off of him when he came to gather up Demegov so the brother's gotta be worse. Not to mention that Anubis freaked out on us when John said he was related. He knows something we don't and I'm getting real sick of secrets.

Anubis comes around the corner holding a small golden disk delicately with both hands. It's raised in the middle and engraved with some kind of white metal. The patterns on the surface are so intricate that there's no way a man made it. Inlaid along the edges are a series of large gemstones that look like they're each worth a house in Beverly Hills. Other than that, its looks like a mini metal Frisbee. What the hell?

"That's it?"

'Scout doesn't share my complete lack of excitement, "What does it do?"

Anubis lays it very carefully on his checkout counter and takes a step back. Everyone else sorta' fills the space he vacated, trying to get a better look at the Frisbee. Abe ghosts his hands over the disk, never quite touching it. Seriously, am I the only one not impressed with this thing?

"This is the Living Armor of Elohim, given to Michael by God himself to help him combat Sammael's armies."

My head snaps up at the painfully familiar name, "Wait, like the ugly bastard I fought in New York?"

Please tell me that thing is dead. I really don't want to deal with a repeat of that. Abe pulls his hands away and straightens up, going off on his usual spout of book stuff, "The hound of resurrection was named after the archangel Sammael as a sort of homage to the-"

"Yeah, skip ahead. I don't have to fight that thing again, do I?"

"You fought the hound of resurrection?" Anubis asks, his eyebrows arching in what I hope is amazement.

Before I can say anything, Blue continues, "Sammael is another name for Lucifer, Hellboy. This armor was made to help Michael combat Satan."

The fancy Frisbee? Seriously?

Out of the corner of my eye, I see 'Scout pick the disk up and spin it between his hands. Like he knows exactly what it's for, he swings it over his head and presses it firmly between his shoulder blades. His wings shoot out of his back, knocking a few relics over. The disk spins and clicks softly and all those little intricate lines start coming apart.

Bands of metal come out of the tiny hunk of metal like Newton (or whoever it was) never discovered physics. The bands snap around John's body into layers, working their way down his chest and across his arms and legs. More metal sprouts from the bands, forming complex grieves and gauntlets and shoulder gear. A helm snaps together across his face, the white metal crawling into scrawling shapes on the surface. It works across his wings very last, covering the main bone past the joint where his wings turn back down. Small pieces of white and gold fabric unroll to drape across his feathers.

When it's done, nobody says a thing. 'Scout rolls his shoulders and flexes his wings a little, clearly feeling out the armor. It looks bulky but it moves with him like fabric. I'm already wondering how the hell we're supposed to get it off of him.

"Whoa," I say, not sure what else there is to say. "Okay, cool. Now how do we take it off?"

Anubis completely ignores me, "It's good that the armor accepted you. Michael said it would."

Pieces are starting to fall together in my head. Michael planned this all along. When he was standing there talking about how I deserved to have my lover returned to me, he was really just trying to figure out how to cover his ass. He made John, so that means he and John have the same power signature. I'd bet nobody else can use this fucking armor. And if John's the only one that can wear it, he's the one who has to do the fighting.

No fucking way. 'Scout's pretty good, he's got great aim and decent reflexes, but this is WAY beyond him. And if it's not, I want to know where he's been hiding all this extra talent. If the stories are anything to go by, Michael was the greatest battle angel God ever created and this brother of his picked him off like he was a kid with a sharpened stick, right? Even without the armor, Michael should've been able to mop the floor with his brother's face.

John tucks his wings close to his back and the helm snaps back out of the way as he turns. His eyes are solid white, like they were when we were fighting the banshee. After a second, the white fades. Guess I'm just going to have to get used to that.

"How'd you know it'd do that?" Agent Arnold asks.

"I…" John starts, his brows knitting together. "I don't really have a way of explaining it that doesn't sound crazy."

"It spoke to you," Abe supplies seamlessly.

A lot of ancient artifacts can do that, as weird as that sounds. Usually, it's artifacts with some seriously bad mojo that need a human body to shuttle them around. In this case, I don't think that's it. Abe and I have both encountered it before in good and bad stuff.

"Remember that spear in Yugoslavia?" Abe mentions.

I'd rather not. That was an ugly case. I nod, cringing slightly. 'Scout gives me a funny look and I explain, "Before your time."

Anubis disappears into a back room, coming back a moment later with a very large mirror. He leans it against an unoccupied wall. We all watch him, but nobody asks what it's for. I'm figuring he'll explain in a minute… or he's a little vain, who knows.

John gets back to the business at hand, his Quantico training kicking in. He always focuses on the details, wanting to know as much as he can about a mission before he sets out. This is why he always took notes during our briefs and I usually slept. "You seemed to know who I was talking about when I described Michael's attacker. What do you know about him?"

"Much like yourself, I only know stories. Michael's brother was the angel of knowledge. Because he knew all the secrets of the cosmos, he began to wonder why they had to obey Jehovah."

I get a sinking feeling in my guts, "Are we talkin' about Lucifer?"

Anubis meets my gaze, "He always wanted the key to the Abyss, but wasn't willing to risk taking yours. It has been foretold that you are the one to slay him-"

"Enough of this prophecy bullshit!" I cut in, trying not to yell and failing miserably.

Anubis doesn't falter. "It's not a prophecy, it was been Seen. No one can escape fate, Anung un Rama, not even you. This is why Michael risked so much to put you on Lucifer's path. He needs you to save humanity," the volume of his voice rises with each word and he changes into his true form, towering over me. He's trying to intimidate me but it's not working. "So stop acting like a child," he growls.

I glare up at him, curling my stone hand into a fist. My urge to deck him is really hard to ignore. Dirty son of a-

"Both of you quit!" 'Scout yells. "If Lucifer has the key to hell, won't he be trying to use it?"

We stare each other down for another second before Anubis breaks away, "You're right. We need to get to Eden before he can open the gates."

"It's at least a few hours fly time from here-"

"We've already wasted so much time. No, we'll have to travel through shadow. And you," he looks at John and points at the mirror, "will have to learn to use some of the abilities Michael gave you."

Boyscout stares at the mirror with wide, skeptical eyes, "What exactly do you expect me to do with that?"

"You can't walk through shadows, so you'll have to use one of the other angelic staples for transportation."

"Mirrors?"

"Yes," Anubis talks as he gathers a few things: a staff with some kind of blade at the end, another, slightly smaller mirror, a big piece of black cloth, and an Ankh necklace that he slips over his head. "They can use them to talk, travel, read people's thoughts…"

"Talk about invasion of privacy," I chuckle a little. It's my nerves talking, but it's not the fight I'm afraid of…

"I'm fairly certain that doesn't apply," one of Abe's agents tries to argue with me.

I roll my eyes, "It was a joke."

"So, how will I know how to get there?"

Anubis wraps the second mirror in the cloth and starts switching off lights. The windows are high up on the walls and very narrow, so it gets pretty dark. "I'll take a mirror ahead to help guide you through, but if Lucifer is already in the garden, we'll have to act fast. How good are you at following directions?"

"I used to work for the US government," John says, a smile playing on his lips. I don't think Anubis gets it. He stares at 'Scout blankly until he adds, "I'm really good at it."

"Alright. Then wait here, but keep your hand on the mirror."

John touches the glass, the metal of the gauntlets clicking softly. As Anubis hands the mirror to Abe and grabs up his weapon, I cross over to 'Scout. The armor is much more detailed up close. It would be beautiful if it wasn't hanging on my lover like a death sentence.

"I don't like any of this," I whisper against his ear.

John rubs his face against my chest, murmuring back, "We don't have much of a choice." He looks up at me, his blue eyes catching what little light there is. They used to be brown…

I heave a sigh and kiss his forehead. "I know."

"I'd recommend that your human agents stay here. I'm afraid they won't be much good against Lucifer," Anubis says frankly, waving Dave and Arnold back.

Shorty looks relieved, but I'm starting to peg Arnold as a bit of a daredevil. He shoves his gun back into its holster with a grumble I didn't catch. When I glance back at 'Scout, I only manage a half smile before a hand on my jacket yanks me into complete darkness.


	4. Inferno

- John

I stare at the wall Anubis pulled HB and Abe through. I've seen a lot of weird stuff, but never anything that could use a shadow as a door. The wall became a little like Jell-o when Anubis put his arm through it, resisting a moment before giving way. I'm tempted to go over and examine it, but I have wait for Anubis to help me through the mirror.

"Sir, what should we do in the meantime?"

I glance over my shoulder at the agents, not sure what to say. The world is probably going to end in the next few hours if we can't stop Lucifer, but I don't think admitting that would help anything. Plus, telling them to kiss their asses goodbye is not very professional. HB would do it…

"Head back to the plane and report in to Leonitus, bring him up to speed."

"Yes sir."

I breathe out slowly and study myself in the mirror while I listen to them leave. I look ridiculous. There's a half inch of blonde root showing in my hair, I'm wearing medieval style armor in the twenty-first century, and I can see the whites of my eyes because I'm really freaked out. I don't even have a weapon.

As soon as the thought enters my mind, the armor on my right arm shifts and changes. A long piece of metal slides out across my palm. It keeps sliding until there's almost four feet of blade past my fingertips. It flattens out a bit and the piece against my palm rounds into a grip that's perfectly suited to my hand. I wrap my fingers around it.

Great… I don't know how to use a sword. It was something they neglected to touch on in basic training at Quantico. Nice to know that the armor molds itself to my needs. Since it was made before Adam and Eve, I doubt it can handle becoming a gun.

My reflection vanishes from the mirror and is replaced by Anubis. Over his shoulder, I can see Red and Blue scouting the area. It doesn't seem like they're under siege yet. If Lucifer had opened the gate, they'd be neck deep in demons. Maybe we caught all this in time.

"Alright John, this will probably sound strange to you, but work with me. You should've felt a swell of power when you merged with the armor; I need you to reach for that power…"

I'm trying to focus on his instructions, but I see an angel emerge from between the trees. At least I think he's an angel. He's got massive wings, but they have hints of red in the feathers that match his hair. He pulls a bow from across his shoulders and notches an arrow, his eyes intent on Hellboy. I don't think anyone's seen him but me. Blue is examining the ground and Red is watching Anubis and me.

"Red!" I shout, but HB doesn't acknowledge me.

Anubis furrows his brow, "He can't hear you. What…" He looks over at Red and jumps to his feet, "Look out-" is all I hear him say before I'm starring into my own panicked expression.

For a second, I'm baffled before I realize that Anubis was the one keeping the connection alive. I don't know how to get it back.

"No no no!" the words come out of me in an unconscious stream as I start pacing.

If I go back to the plane, it'll take us hours to get out there. I still have no idea how to fly and that can't be much faster than a plane anyway… Think, damn it!

I turn back to the mirror. There has to be a way to do this. I touch the glass. Nothing happens. I think about Eden, Nothing. I try to picture what it looks like, the massive columns of trees and the soft, almost unearthly lighting. Nothing.

"God damn it!" I shout.

I need to get to Red, to know that he's okay. Briefly, the mirror ripples with an image. I hear Red grunt like something hit him hard. There's a flurry of movement, I catch the BPRD logo on HB's sleeve, and then it's dark again.

I force my mind to still. I made it do something, that's a start. I close my eyes and reach for my power the same way I used to reach for the wolf. It doesn't react quite the same way, but I was expecting that. Unlike the wolf, celestial energy feels warm as it floods my system. It spreads from my core, radiating through my chest and then out.

I put both hands on the mirror and try to push the energy down my arms, picturing Eden as I do so. I NEED to be there with every fiber of my being. I can only hope that helps.

"Come on, come on," I whisper, picturing the garden as vividly as I can.

I'm beginning to think that I'm doing this all wrong until a soft, gold glow seeps out of the armor and across the surface of the mirror. My reflection shimmers and vanishes, replaced by the massive, shadowy columns of Eden's trees. My heart rate leaps with my excitement. As I push more energy into it, the glass fractures. I freeze.

"Shit."

Weirdly, the image holds. I don't see anyone. There's something wrong with the garden, but I can't place what. I lean forward to get a better look and my hands slide through the glass. It rolls over my forearms like water, rippling as I push through it. I don't have enough time to wonder how I managed to get it to work, I have to find the others.

The helmet snaps around my face as I enter Eden. The eye-slit is very wide, so I don't have trouble seeing anything, but there's nothing to see and all I can hear is my own breathing. Where are they?

I take a step forward and realize what's wrong. All of the spongy moss that used to cover the ground is gone, replaced by some kind of ash. I kneel down and run my fingers through it. Everything here is dead. I remember HB telling me that when he made Demegov bleed that it killed everything around them. Did it spread to the rest of the trees?

A gun retort echoes through the garden. It's hard to tell what direction it came from. The shouting that starts afterwards is easier to pin down. I tighten my grip on the sword and run towards the fight. I don't know what it is. Usually I'm nervous when I launch into a skirmish, but all I feel is calm.

As I come around the last tree, I take in everything in half a second. There's an angel in the air with a bow and arrow and he's launching a barrage at my team. HB's got half an arrow sticking out of his shoulder. Blue's a few steps behind him, reloading and Anubis is knocking the angel's attacks away from the two of them. He's also got an arrow in his leg.

It's as if my brain is running in high gear. The angel is about ten feet of the ground, keeping himself up by slow, deliberate wing beats. I see a way to get to him, but in the back of my head I'm wondering how I'm going to pull it off. I feel like my body is moving on its own. I dart around the battle, coming up behind the angel. Going full speed, I jump at the tree closest to him and run up the bark several steps. I push off hard. He turns in the air, but he's much too slow. I catch his back with my blade. We both go down. I roll to my feet as soon as I hit the ground, slinging some of the blood off my sword.

How the HELL did I do that? It's got to be the armor, I don't have another explanation for it.

"'Scout?" Red exclaims, his voice heavy with disbelief.

I don't think I believe what happened any more than he does and I was the one that did it. The angel gets up. I'm really hoping that little stunt wasn't a fluke.

"Careful, Uriel is not to be trifled with," Anubis warns me.

Uriel? Isn't Uriel one of the good guys? Surely this is a misunderstanding… one that I've just made worse.

Uriel pushes his flamingly bright hair out of his face, sending me a glare I can practically feel the heat coming off of. The blade retracts into the armor and I raise my hands, "Wait, we're on your side. We're here to help."

"Are you?" he hisses as he eyes my armor. "You're a fool if you think you can stop what's coming. Just like Michael was a fool."

Before I can process what he's saying, Uriel throws a ball of fire at me. It hits in the center of my chest, knocking my breath out and throwing me backwards. The armor absorbed most of the impact but pain still lances through my chest. I slide through the ash for several feet.

"John! You son of a-" I hear the heavy thud of two bodies connecting before there's a bright flash and Red growls, "You're going to have to do a hell of a lot better than a little fire."

I roll to one side, coughing and panting. I can't get enough air into my lungs. When my breathing starts to steady, I struggle to my feet. Away from the fight, I can hear something else. It's different from the grunts and shouts behind me. It sounds like a hundred people or more, screaming, crying, howling… The voices are muffled like they're coming from outside.

Curious, I walk that direction, casting a glance back to make sure the others are still doing okay. Red is grappling with Uriel and fire is crawling up one of the trees. It's spreading fast. If it gets to the other trees, this whole place could go up in minutes.

I head towards the voices, staying as hidden as I can. Edging my head out into the open, I suck my breath in through my teeth at what I see. The tree of knowledge has a massive door carved into its surface. It's covered in demon wings and soulful human faces that look like they've been painted in blood. There's a limp figure laying at the foot of the door. Judging from the gouge that transects her neck, there's not much I can do for her. I don't see anyone else.

I enter the clearing, staring at the door. I hope that my mouth isn't hanging open. Red told me a little about this, since I was dead by the time Demegov revealed the door, but it's so much more intimidating in person. The door towers almost three stories high. Voices pour from behind it, both human and inhuman alike. Some of the screeches make it feel like there's ice working its way down my spine.

In the center of the door, a little above waist level, there are two perfectly circular holes. They've got to be the keyholes. It's reminiscent of the door in Russia, but it holds back a whole lot more than a lesser god.

I feel the presence at my back before I hear it. My blade snaps into position as I whirl to block his attack. The sickle hits my sword with a shower of sparks and a clang that echoes.

Michael's killer grins at me, "Bold of you to come after me alone. Or stupid. Which are you?"

I'm thinking 'stupid' as I swallow the lump in my throat. This was very, very stupid. The metal hisses as he slides his blade off mine. He circles slowly, eyeing me like he was appraising a show animal. My gaze flicks in the direction I came from, hoping to see somebody coming to back me up. All that's visible around the trees is the light from a massive fire.

He attacks me in the half second my attention is diverted. Purely out of instinct, I throw my blade up to block him, barely doing so in time. I shift my weight forward and sling his weapon away from me. He doesn't lose his grip on it, which is what I was hoping for, but takes a few steps back. He's still smiling.

"I have to admit, you are not what I was expecting. If Michael's armor didn't conform to the bearer, you'd never have filled it," he cackles.

There's no way I'm letting him goad me into charging. If he wasn't playing with me, I doubt I'd be able to hold off his attacks. It may have been stupid to wander off, but I'm going to try and limit my idiocy to that today.

Fresh blood is spattered across his armor, probably from the girl. My stomach turns slightly when I realize that he has Michael's stone arm tied to his belt. The remnants of his ulna and radius are sticking out of the base.

"We're going to stop you," I say, my words sounding a lot more certain than I feel.

His grin widens, "Try it, little one. Right now you're the only thing standing in my way and I doubt Michael had time to train you how to use that artifact you're wearing. Why don't you step aside?"

He lowers his weapon and walks towards me, expecting me to scamper out of his way like anyone with a proper sense of self-preservation would do, but I can't. If he opens those doors, I'll be dead anyway, but it won't just be me it'll be billions of people.

I tighten my grip on the weapon and swing it as hard as I can. I realize almost instantly that it was a bad move. He dodges back to avoid it and comes in fast while I'm still exposed, grabbing my left wing and slamming me into the tree. I can't stop my pained wail when he digs his fingers into the bone.

"You're a ballsy little bastard, but essentially Michael was throwing a bucket of water at an erupting volcano when he picked you. If you're the one his Seers have been blathering about, then I was right to put them out of their misery," he chuckles and spreads his fingers out on my wing.

Though his touch is lighter now, it still makes me shudder unpleasantly. Veldex flashes into my mind, startling me. Suddenly I'm in that tiny room in Demegov's mansion, the demon leaning over me, licking a trail up my stomach. I know it has to be an illusion, but my terror is real. I can feel his claws scrape against my hips as he rips off my jeans, smell the rotting flesh between his teeth when he tells me that no one is coming for me. I'm hyperventilating by the time he shoves into me.

The illusion vanishes, replaced by a different grinning face. I've broken out into a cold sweat and have slid partway down the tree because my knees gave out. I stare up at him, trying to control my panic.

He leans in close enough that I can feel his breath on my ear, "Test me, little rabbit, and you'll be living in that nightmare for the rest of your pathetic existence."

After dealing with me, he starts to undo the four heavy leather straps that connect Michael's hand to his belt. I look down at the girl on the ground. She's young, Arabic as far as I can tell. Her dark, empty eyes are fearful, frozen in the expression she had when she died. If I can't do something, she'll just be the first. It has to stop here.

One of the chants from HB's cheat book pops into my head. It's in Latin, one of the ones he said I'd never need unless we ran up against something that the other spells couldn't handle. I think this qualifies. It was one of the only incantations I went out of my way to memorize and now I'm grateful.

The words roll off my tongue more easily than they did when I was practicing. He stops and turns to me, his head tilted slightly to the side. Out of the corner of my eye, I see HB run into the clearing. Either they won or he left the others to finish the fight so he could come look for me. I keep reciting, pushing his presence into the back of my head. If I screw up the incantation, everything's going to turn to shit.

Halfway through the second verse, the assassin smiles. He starts the third verse with me and I falter to a stop. He finishes the incantation for me, laughing, "What do you think I am, a demon?"

Now I'm just confused. I look over at HB, hoping he has some kind of idea about what's going on, but he's wearing the same emotion that I am. I back up to Red, appreciating the arm he puts around me.

"I thought that would work," I whisper.

"It should have."

The assassin keeps laughing and pulls out a pair of feathered wings that are just as white as mine. As far as I know, when an angel falls, his wings change. I'm not sure to what, but it doesn't look like anything has happened to them. Uriel lands beside him, thoroughly bloodied and bruised from his fight with Red and the others. The picture is starting to get a little clearer. Lucifer was an easy choice for killing Michael, but I suspect that all of the archangels are brothers.

"Gabriel?" Anubis exclaims from behind us.

I turn to see him stick his staff into the ground and point an accusing finger at the dark-haired angel.

"It is not your place to start this destruction."

Gabriel takes Michael's key in both hands, holding it by the bone sticking out of the base and the fingers. "No, of course it isn't. Only those approved by the mighty creators can destroy what's been made, but that position was recently vacated. I'm simply stepping in for him."

A loud cracking noise draws our eyes upward as a massive, burning limb falls from the canopy. It crashes to the ground a few feet to the right of us. The entire canopy is on fire, the blaze spreading quickly to all the trees. The inferno has encircled the tree of knowledge, but hasn't caught it yet. The branches seem like they're curling away from the flames, almost as though it's protecting itself. Some of the outer edges are already starting to burn.

Red uses the distraction to charge at Gabriel. He smacks Red with Michael's arm. The thud is so loud I can feel it in my chest. I lunge in low and fast, coming around the far side of the burning limb. Gabriel turns as I attack, but a blade dripping fire blocks my swing. With his free hand, Uriel shoves me backwards.

Several wounds open across Uriel's chest as Abe unloads a clip into him. The archangel falls to one knee and Abe grabs my arm. "The trees are going to collapse. We need to leave," his voice is way too calm for the situation, but that's just Blue. I can count on one hand how many times I've been able to tell he's worried during a battle.

"We need to get the key!" I yell over the growing roar of the fire.

"The structure the trees have created over the centuries is holding up the mountain. It's going to collapse under the weight in a few minutes."

Anubis and Red are running a tag team on Gabriel, but he's holding them off easily. The key is still in his hand. Gabriel whips around and catches Anubis across the chest with his sickle. The jackal god falls back a step and snarls, showing a mouthful of sharp teeth. As quick as the two of them can attack him, Gabriel is still faster. He slings the stone arm in the way of Anubis's staff and leaps backwards as Red throws a hell of a punch.

A horrific screech cuts through the fight. I look back at the tree of knowledge as the trunk starts to blacken and burn. It's not a scream from behind the gates; I think it's the tree itself. Rotting fruit starts falling from its branches in a hailstorm. The branches curl and twist as they burn.

"No!" Gabriel shouts, expelling a burst of bright light from his skin that throws everyone off their feet. Everyone but me.

The gate is vanishing in the flames, turning back into wood. Gabriel runs for the door and I take off at his heels. There's a loud 'thunk' and a streak of pain jolts through my back. The second arrow glances off the armor. I glance over my shoulder to see that Uriel already has another one notched for me. Just behind him though, Red's got his stone fist cocked back. I turn away before the blow lands.

Gabriel reaches the gate a step ahead of me, shoving the key into the first lock. I tackle him and grab for Michael's hand. It turns without any guidance from Gabriel. Ash rains from the tree as a deep rumbling sound rolls out of the door. The seam in the center splits and heat forty times more intense than the inferno raging around us pours out of it. Millions of shadows dance at the crack, waiting anxiously.

I grab the bone at the base of Michael's hand and try to wrench it out of the lock. Gabriel reaches for my wing, but I duck out of the way. That's SO not happening twice. There's a sound like stone grinding on stone and the key slides out of place. It falls heavily into my hands. Before I can even turn, Gabriel grabs my helm and my vision is filled with white. The flash of light is so bright that I can still see it after I squeeze my eyes shut. The weight of the key disappears.

I try to rub at my eyes through the slit in the helm, but I can't really get to them. The screams of the damned quiet and then vanish all together just before a hand wraps around my arm and pulls me along. I don't need to be able to see to know its Red.

"Where are they?" I ask, tripping over my own feet as we start running.

"They took the key and flew off."

"What about the door?"

"Fire destroyed it."

The white starts to clear and I kind of wish it hadn't. There's fire all around us. A massive crack rips through the air and one of the trees directly ahead of us starts to slowly tilt to one side. If I remember right, the entrance to the garden is on the other side. If that thing falls, we'll be trapped in here. I speed up to a sprint. Abe is pacing us, but Anubis is way ahead. The falling tree picks up more momentum and Anubis slides to a stop, the claws of his back feet leaving gouges in the earth as he changes directions. He darts back towards us. It crashes down in a shower of sparks right where he would've been standing. I slow to a jog, panting in the thin air.

Red throws up his hands, "What now?"

I feel like I'm cooking in all this metal. The armor folds away from me, retracting into the disk attached to my back. Well… at least I know how to take it off. I'm not sure that it's all that comforting now. My stomach drops a little as I realize what the options are… more like what the option IS. There's only one that I can think of.

I reach up and put my hands on either side of Red's face, forcing him to look at me while I speak, "You need to go with Anubis. There are still plenty of shadows in here, use one to get out."

His reaction is immediate and powerful. "Are you fucking insane?" he shouts at me. "I'll die before I leave."

"Red, I still have the mirror, I'll use it, but you need to go now before the shadows are gone!" That mirror probably shattered in this heat a long time ago…

"No, you two get out of here," Red motions at Anubis and Abe. "I'm going to-"

"Red, you have to go!" I scream, shoving at him. Anubis locks eyes with me and I direct my next words at him, "Get him out of here."

As Anubis moves forward to seize Red's coat, Red slams his left fist into his snout. I wince for him. Anubis growls a little, but ignores the hit, grabbing Red and Blue and sinking through the shadows on the ground. Hellboy's extremely loud cussing is cut short when the dark envelops his head.

Once I'm alone, a swell of panic hits me. What the hell was I thinking? As much as I desperately want Red back, I know this is for the best. I look around Eden and wrack my brain for ideas. Another massive limb crashes to the ground at my back, making me jump. The heat is almost unbearable. I can feel it scalding my skin and scorching the insides of my lungs with every breath.

Trees all around me are collapsing. Some of them just fall. Others explode along their trunk and cave in on themselves. Fiery debris drifts from the ceiling with the ash. I stand for a moment and watch the birthplace of mankind burn. Even through all of the destruction, I see one small sapling standing untouched. Its bark is smooth, white, and flawless. I can only assume that it's the tree of life. Coursing from underneath its roots is a stream of water.

The river. Why didn't I think of it before? Red used the river to get into the garden when he came for Demegov. I dart around another falling branch and head for the water. Chunks of stone are falling out of place now. The ground shakes as the cavern starts to crumble. I roll out of the way of a massive piece of stone, shielding my eyes from the dirt it flings up.

Up next to the roots of the tree, the river is barely a trickle, but by the time it reaches the edge of the garden, it has formed a swift stream. I drop into the surprisingly cold water and wade towards the garden wall. The water is barely up to my waist, but it's rising fast. The opening in the cavern wall is low and debris is falling more frequently now. I drop into the water so I can swim. I need to get there before the entrance is blocked.

The water soaks into my wings, making me much heavier. I tuck them in close but it doesn't help. I cuss and cough. It's much harder to pull them in than it should be. The right one folds into place easily, but the left keeps catching on something and it hurts, bad. I crane my neck and spot the shaft of an arrow sticking out of my back. I don't have enough time left to do this delicately. Gritting my teeth, I reach back and yank it out. My scream is barely audible over the sound of Eden's destruction.

I pull my other wing in and dive beneath the wall. The river is very swift on the other side. At first, I try to swim with it, but it's not long before I'm being pulled along at its mercy. I bang against the sides of the cavern, earning a pretty collection of bruises and scrapes I'm sure, but it's better than burning alive any day. It's difficult to keep my head above the rapids. Every so often, I get a lungful of water instead of air and spend the next few minutes hacking.

After I've gone what seems like a mile or more, I burst out into the light and drop a few feet into a small reservoir. The water is shallow here. I swim to the surface and take a deep breath, croaking with laughter. I crawl up the bank and collapse in the mud. My aches feel strangely good right now. I've felt this before, with other near death experiences. No matter what I feel, it's good because I'm still alive to feel.

Red is going to be so pissed… and relieved, but he'll start with pissed.

When I catch my breath, I get to my feet and study my surroundings. It's a very mountainous area, but I know I'm east of the garden. I can see the plume of smoke from here. It almost looks like a volcano. The top of the mountain has collapsed inward, creating a sort of vent for the fire. That's going to confuse the shit out of the local scientists.

There's nothing further east for probably twenty miles, but I know there's a town to the west. It's going to be a damn long walk, but I don't have much of a choice. My phone is dead, fried by the water, I don't have a full-length mirror handy, and I still have no idea how to fly. I really ought to look into that. It could be a useful thing to know, especially in times like this.

The reservoir is on top of a small hill, which the river continues down the side of in white-capped rapids. I give the river a wide berth. As much as it saved my life, I would rather stay dry for the next month or so. I pick across the rocky terrain headed west.

I've only been walking for about ten minutes when I hear Red's voice, "You take me back in there or I'm going to rip you into tiny fucking pieces!" They must not have gone far from the entrance of Eden. I'm grateful.

Somebody, probably Anubis, answers him in a tone I can't hear this far off and there's a loud crack of stone hitting stone. Red is trying to intimidate him into doing what he wants. As easily as Red can be pushed into real violence, I'm surprised he hasn't started a fight with Anubis yet.

"You should've left me with him!" He shouts, anguish creeping into his voice.

I climb on top of a boulder so I can get a better view. They're down in a small valley just to the north of me. There's a deep crevice nearby that Anubis had to have brought them through. In the bright midday sun, it's the only place where there's a shadow dark enough. Red's pacing, rubbing his flesh hand across his face and neck, and Abe's sitting on a shelf of rock, his shoulders hunched forward and his head hanging low. I don't want to wait until I get closer to let them know that I'm okay.

I wave my arms and shout, "Hellboy!"

They all turn at once.

"John?" HB says almost too quiet for me to hear and then he's shouting and running towards me, "John!"

I jump off the boulder and work my way down the crumbly embankment. Sliding and stumbling though the loose rocks, I almost take a dive a few times before I get to the bottom. He disappears from view for a second, but rounds the corner and practically plows into me. Red grabs me up into a bear hug that's a little too tight. I don't mind.

He pulls me to arms-length and aims a glare at me, "You try a stunt like that again and I'll chain you to the fuckin' bed, got it?"

My smile is stupid, giddy really. "You promise?" I joke, finally earning a grin in return.

He hugs me again and I rest my face against his chest. When Anubis and Blue join us, we regretfully disengage. I smile at both of them as they express how relieved they are. I don't know Anubis well enough for any hugging and Blue mostly prefers not to touch people if he can help it. He grips my arm for a moment and I know how thankful he is that I'm alright.

"Job well done, right? Now we go home," HB says with a smirk.

Anubis shakes his head from side to side slowly, "They still have the key."

"But what's it matter, the door is gone. What good is a key with no fuckin' door?"

I have to agree with Red, but Anubis is looking back towards the garden with a scowl on his face.

"This may come as a shock to you, but that's just one gate of many."

"What?" Red draws the word out, annoyance dripping from it.

"One of twelve."

"WHAT?"

My heart drops into my intestines. There's no way we can anticipate which gate they'll try next. How are we supposed to stop them?

Anubis sighs as he takes on his human illusion, "We'll have to warn the others to guard their gates."

"Who? What others?" I ask.

He looks at me, his eyes locking with mine, "The other gods."


	5. Flightless

- HB

Twenty-four hours into a real job and 'Scout nearly dies… This doesn't bode well. I would say we're going to pack it up and go home, but there's no way we can leave now. The world can't end at the hands of an angel. It seems wrong. Angels were supposed to be God's servants, so I wonder what happened to piss this one off so bad. Although, I guess I'd be pretty fucking pissed if I spent an eternity serving people. It would get real old, real fast.

It took a few trips through shadow, but we're all sitting around Anubis's shop licking our wounds (some of us more literally than others). Abe's goin' from one person to the next, pulling out fragments of arrows and applying bandages. While he does that, Anubis talks about the gates and the gods and a really old wager.

Apparently, the great creators stumbled across this empty planet eons ago and decided to have a dick-waving contest. Every creator would make his own version of what would be called 'man' and whichever version was the most successful would win. I don't think anyone remembers what they win, but hell, a few hundred-thousand years will do that to a guy's memory.

While all the gods couldn't agree on what afterlife the humans should have, they did agree on one thing: hell. And just in case they ever needed to get into the underworld, they created twelve gates and gave out twelve keys. Whoever thought of that plan should be shot. Twelve keys to one hell? That's a whole lot of bad waiting to happen.

'Scout's sitting in a chair that's turned backwards, his forearms resting across the back. It's a lot easier for Blue to get to his wounds that way. The first thing Blue tried to do was take the disk-thing off of 'Scout's back, but it wouldn't let go. Anubis says 'Scout's gotta' be completely relaxed before it'll come off. I doubt that'll happen in the next couple of days.

"Why would you need to get into hell at all? I've heard what's behind those gates. Wouldn't it all rush out as soon as the doors open?" John asks, hissing halfway through his question as Abe extracts a shard of wood from his shoulder.

Anubis shrugs, "Everything needs a failsafe and the keys were given to extremely capable guardians. As far as everything flooding out… I can't say. I wasn't born until after the earth was populated and I wasn't all that close to my grandfather."

"Your grandfather?" I ask. I'm not that familiar with Egyptian lore. All I knew about Anubis before today was that he was half dog and gothic chicks love to get tattoos of him. Although, the dog thing turned out to not be true.

Blue doesn't give Anubis a chance to answer. Without looking up from what he's doing, the living encyclopedia starts spitting out info, "The great sun god Ra created Egypt and spat out four children to rule it."

'Scout raises his eyebrows, "Spat?"

"Sort of. They came from within him and that's just how our people interpreted it," Anubis revises. "Though, they also didn't understand that gods can have an incestuous relationship with no repercussions, but humans aren't so fortunate. So all the royalty only married family and caused the inevitable downfall of the human's royal line…"

"Oops," I joke with a grin. After a second, his statement really sinks in. "Wait, incestuous? Like with family?"

Anubis an annoyed look in my direction, growling, "Yes, with family. That is the definition of incestuous. I hardly think you have room to judge since you're relationship is far from any norm."

"Yeah, but John's not my brother."

'Scout leans forward and drops his forehead onto the chair back. His exasperated groan is unmistakable. I'm not sure who it's aimed at, but I'm going to assume it's me. "It was the beginning of time, Red. There weren't a lot of other fish in the ocean at that point."

Anubis sighs and picks up his spear, laying it across his lap. Grabbing a rag from the counter, he starts cleaning the blood off the blade. He moves systematically from the tip down. He's trying to be the bigger man and ignore our argument, but I never believed in that stupid act.

I snort and say plenty loud enough for his giant-ass ears to catch, "Wouldn't say there aren't any repercussions."

His illusion flickers a little, giving me a glimpse of his snarl. "And what does that mean?"

"Nothin'," I shrug. Let him be the bigger man now… I grin to myself. If 'Scout could reach me, he would've hit me for that one. As is, his glare is lethal.

Abe sets his tweezers on the elaborate end table he's using as a medical tray and grabs the bottle of peroxide. He yanks some paper towels off a half used roll and presses them against 'Scout's back before pouring the disinfectant into his wound. The liquid foams up, turning pink as it mixes with his blood.

"I am almost ready to begin your stitches."

Boyscout's cringe says enough. We don't have anything that'll deaden the pain, which Abe flatly explained when we got back. If I'd realized stitches were going to be involved, I might've been more adamant that we get some. Stitches are a bitch when you don't have something to take the edge off.

I push off the wall I've been leaning on and come around to crouch in front of John, offering him my left hand. He takes it in both of his with a thankful smile.

"You two are such drama queens."

My head snaps up and I ask Abe, "What did you just say?" I'm not really offended, but did he seriously just use the phrase 'drama queen'?

"That is the correct idiom when someone is overreacting, isn't it? I pull my judgment from the fact that the two of you get thrown into walls and bitten and shot and stabbed on a fairly regular basis, but when I pull out a needle, you act as though the world is ending." Abe threads the needle in one try, tying a surgical knot to the opposite end. He pauses and says, "That may be a poor choice of words, considering the circumstances."

"Nobody likes needles, Blue," John ignores the comment about the end of the world and grips my hand a little harder in preparation for the first stick.

Blue slides the needle into the base of the wound, making my skin crawl a bit. Maybe he's right, but it doesn't change that I'd rather get thrown into a wall than get stitches. He gently pinches the wound shut as he sews. Every new prick makes John's hands spasm around mine.

To get 'Scout's mind off of it, I shift his focus onto the mission. "So, what's the plan now? You said we have to alert the other gods, but how are we supposed to find them?" I look over my shoulder at Anubis, enjoying the fact that he's still got that pissy expression.

"We'll need more hands if we're going to tell everyone before Gabriel gets to one of those gates."

"We should call the Society," John mentions between winces. "Lazarus can contact Torque. He's the only one who knows where to find him."

"I can move the fastest, so I'll take a majority of the gates, but I won't be able to get to all of them… and there are a few kingdoms I'm not welcome in." We all look up at Anubis, but he continues instead of elaborating. "If you can get to the Viking homelands, Odin will find you."

I'm pretty sure being found by Odin is actually a bad thing, mostly because I don't like the way he phrased that. It sounded far too ominous. "'Scout's staying with me," I want to make it clear early. No way am I letting him wander off on his own to find more trouble to get into. More than a fair share of the old-world gods were honored with blood sacrifices and I know they're not just going to invite us in for teatime. 'Scout, on the other hand, probably doesn't realize what kind of darkness is hiding in these ancient beings.

Abe ties off the thread and cuts it. "I can take one of the bureau's planes wherever I'm needed."

"You might need a helicopter, actually. The Hindu gods reside in the Himalayas and there aren't many landing strips out there."

I'm starting to see a trend here. Abe and John and I are going to the coldest places known to man and Anubis is headed where exactly? "Where are you goin' first?"

"Probably Mexico. The Mayans do not guard their gate as well as some of the others do."

"So we're going to freeze our asses off and you're going to a tropical fucking paradise?" I growl.

He smile is almost feral. "The last time I made contact with the Mayans, they tried to cut my heart out. If you want to take a crack at them-"

"No!" John interrupts loudly. He quiets down, flushing beautifully before he mutters, "We'll stick with the Norse, thanks." The end of his statement is punctuated by a 'shut the fuck up' look aimed directly at me.

"Besides, you and Odin should get along famously. You're rather similar."

I'm skeptical of that.

"You're both hard headed."

I shoot Anubis the finger and he laughs. I'm still deciding whether I hate this guy, or really like him. He annoys the shit out of me, but I have to admire that he gives as good as he gets.

"You going to drop us off on your way?" I ask, still pretty miffed that he's going to Mexico and we're headed off to… wait, where are the Vikings from?

"Norway," Abe supplies seamlessly.

"Awesome," the word drips sarcasm. I've been to Norway. It's cold during the summer and really fuckin' cold during the winter.

Anubis sets his spear against the wall and gets to his feet, "I can't take you to your respective destinations." I open my mouth to argue but he pushes on, "If I drop you and can't come back for whatever reason, you'll be stuck without transportation. We can't afford that right now."

So that means we're going to be spending a lot of time cooped up on a plane. Great. I'm assuming Abe'll be taking his agents to India with him, so that mean there won't be a poker game to fill the time. 'Course, when 'Scout's not sleeping, we tend to abuse our membership for the mile high club, so there's always that.

"Can I borrow your phone? Mine's dead," John asks Anubis.

The jackal-god points to the back room and 'Scout disappears behind the beaded curtain that serves as a door.

"Hope you've got a good long distance plan," I offhandedly mention as I start searching my pockets for a cigar. I know I brought another one with me, but we've been through a lot between me stashing it and now. It could be gone.

Taking 'Scout's departure as his cue, Abe moves off to the far side of the room to contact his agents. I catch snippets of his conversation, but I don't get much beyond "We are going to need the helicopter sooner than that" and "Yes, winter gear." I start to remind him that 'Scout and I are going to need warmer clothes too, but I'm sure he knows.

Anubis leans slightly so he can see into the back room, "Who is he calling?"

"A few of our friends."

"Many of the deities are extremely dangerous. If they're human-"

"One's immortal, the other can weaponize the energy she steals from your body, another is an African demi-god…"

"I get the idea."

"Are you sure? I could go on." I grin at the annoyed look he gives me.

"You enjoy getting a rise out of me, don't you?"

He's catching on. My grin widens a little as I give him more grief, "Nah, not at all."

Anubis opens a glass case that's full of armor and weapons. His human form disappears as he pulls a metal breastplate out and starts strapping it on. It's a Roman-styled plate, the kind where the metal is shaped like the guy's half naked and ripped. He slips a pair of silver wrist guards onto his arms and reaches for a helmet that's specifically designed to fit over his snout and long ears. The metal rests on the length of his nose, curling down around the muzzle without impeding his jaw.

"You really don't trust these guys," I say when he kneels to put on some greaves onto the top half of his multi-jointed legs.

"I did mention their attempts to cut out my heart. Were you listening or just trying to come up with more witty comebacks? The Mayans are… volatile." He pauses in the middle of fixing a loose strap and looks at me, "Guard your mate carefully in Norway."

See, now I'm suspicious again. "Are we going to get our asses kicked out there or are they actually going to listen to us? I mean, how are we supposed to convince them that we're not just… you know."

"Full of shit?"

Not the phrase I was going to use, but it works a hell of a lot better than what I was trying to come up with. "Yeah."

He finishes gearing up while he chews on my question. "Well," he starts, grabbing his spear and sliding it into a metal ring on the back of his armor. "You're just going to have to be convincing."

"Great advice," I mutter. With those giant-ass ears of his, I know he heard me, but Anubis doesn't say anything else.

John sticks his head out from the back room, swatting some of the beads strings out of his face. "Where should I tell them to meet us after they're done in Africa?"

"They're going to handle the tribal gods? I don't know if that's a good idea." Anubis doesn't seem to think that anybody can handle anything but him. His confidence in us is extremely motivating…

"They can manage, trust me," 'Scout shoots back at him sharply.

Anubis seems skeptical, but answers, "Have them meet us in Athens in two days." As he's vanishing into the shadows, he throws, "And do lock up before you leave," over his shoulder.

'Scout and I stand there blinking for a second before John asks, "With what key?"

I shrug.

Abe comes back over, setting his satellite phone on a display case full of tiny gold figurines. Poor guy looks a little dried out. Between being in one of the hottest places on earth and running around in an inferno, he could probably use a swim.

"Leonitus is going to commandeer a helicopter from a local base and you two are going in the cargo plane. I'm not sure how I'm expected to get to India and back in two days, but I'll try my best."

"Right so, do we have to sneak around Cairo like a bunch of ninjas or are they coming to pick us up?" I ask, scratching at the bandage on my shoulder.

Abe slaps my hand away as he answers, "They'll be here in a few minutes."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The flight to Norway isn't as bad as the one across the Atlantic. Like clockwork though, 'Scout nodded off a little after we left the runway. I didn't even get a chance to bring up the mile-high-club idea. He woke up about ten minutes ago, but we're getting close to landing now. As we're banking over our destination, I'm pretty pissed to see snow on everything. It's not cold yet where John and I live, but apparently they're balls deep in winter here.

"Why would anybody live somewhere with so much damn snow," I mutter, not really expecting an answer.

'Scout tosses his magazine in the seat across from us and leans over me to see through the window, "Some people like snow."

I absently rub the muscles in the back of his neck while we both stare out at the white ground. It's not so much the snow that I hate as it is the cold. Wearing big, stupid lookin' coats isn't really up my alley so I usually just stick with the duster jacket Dad bought me back in the 60's. Course, it's been patched and reworked so many times that I doubt any part of the original is left.

My fingers press a little harder into John's spine as he leans back into my touch. I circle the nub of each vertebrate with my thumb, working my way down. His soft sigh lets me know he's enjoying it. When my hand touches metal, my gaze snaps away from the window. I push the collar of his shirt down so I can see the disk. It's almost flat against his skin, unnoticeable under his clothes if you know it was there. My mind strays back to the armor's purpose, to what it means. I want it off him.

Anubis said something about John needing to be completely relaxed before we can get it off… the most calm Boyscout ever gets is right after sex. Not just any sex though, it's gotta' be full-blown, we've-been-at-it-for-too-many-hours-to-count sex. I file the idea into the back of my head for later and follow the disk's encryption with my index finger.

The symbols are all individual pieces of carved silver about the size of a grain of rice and each letter is lined with a strip of gold almost too small to see. There are words here and there that I half recognize, but the language is not familiar. I'd bet that it's the same thing that John threw at the banshee.

"'Scout-"

"If the next thing you're going to say is anything close to the phrase 'maybe you should stay on the plane' then save it," John cuts in quickly.

My mouth snaps shut involuntarily because that's exactly what I was going to say and I don't have a good comeback ready. Normally I would, but he caught me off guard. He sits back to give me a look that warns against argument, but he should know better than that. No way am I just letting this go.

"'Scout-"

"No, you know exactly where the conversation is going to end, so-"

"Will you just give me a chance to-"

"We're not having this fucking argum-"

"Will you stop interrupting me, damn it!" I raise my voice an immediately regret it.

John clams up, crossing his arms over his chest and letting ice grow across his expression. Shit. This is the way he gets when he's really fuckin' ticked. The muscle in his jaw twitches slightly as he glares at me. Talking to him when he's like this is like trying to talk to a pet rock. I flop back in the seat and rub my forehead just under my horns.

"Sorry," I mumble, only half meaning it. I know he doesn't like to be left on the sidelines like the team mascot, but I wish he wouldn't get so damn angry when I'm just trying to keep him safe.

After a full minute of silence stretches out between us, he finally lets his arms drop, "I just don't want to have this argument again, Red. I'm sick of it. It always ends the same way."

I have to bite my lip against my retort. Telling him that it only ends that way because he's as stubborn as an ass will not win me any prizes. I'll probably end up sleeping in the chair in the living room for a month if I let something like that slip. That always leaves a crick in my neck.

I have to break this damn mood before we land so I joke with an encouraging smile, "But you'd look so cute in an apron."

He hides his laugh in a snort and punches my bicep.

The overhead speaker clicks on and the copilot clears his throat before hesitantly saying, "Um… there are goats on our landing strip, so we might have to circle a couple of times."

In unison, 'Scout and I ask, "Goats?"

We pull up and back as sharply as this mega monster plane can. As far as I can tell, we're in the middle of nowhere so I doubt this landing strip gets much use. There's a tiny building just to the east of it with smoke coming out of the chimney. I bet the goats belong to whoever lives there. Guess they're more of herders than airstrip managers.

"Why are we landing here?" I ask as I get unbuckled and walk to the front.

The pilot glances back at me when I stick my head into the cockpit. He pushes the steering wheel forward and we start a second go at the runway. The goats dart in different directions, but there's still too many of them to land. The pilot pulls up hard. We probably come within twenty feet of the ground. I have to hold onto the doorframe so I don't fall.

"Are you sure this is a runway?"

I feel John at my back. He grabs my sleeve and mumbles, "They're never going to get all of them to move." He's quiet for a while as we circle again and make another extremely unsuccessful run at the animals.

"These goats have balls of steel," I joke, getting a 'no kidding' from the copilot.

"Have you ever jumped out of a plane before," John asks.

I grin, knowing where this is going, "Yeah, have you?"

His grip on my coat tightens, "Uh… no."

I brush my hand through his hair as I turn and head towards the back of the plane. "I wouldn't worry too much, kiddo, you've got wings. I'm taking a parachute though."

"Take us higher," John tells the pilot before following me.

I grab two chutes out of the lockers and throw one at him without looking. He must've caught it 'cause I don't hear it hit the floor. I'm mostly strapped into mine before I realize that John's not moving. I glance up at him. Boyscout is kneading the bag between his hands. He's scared, I can see it in his face.

"Baby?" It's just a jump. He's done way more dangerous stuff than this. Hell, regular people do this all the time. "What's up?"

"I'm not sure how this has never come up before… but…" He scratches one arm and gives me a sheepish grin, "I'm afraid of heights."

"No you're not," I deny instantly. If he was, I would know about it… right? How the hell could I have missed something like that? Sure we've never jumped out of a plane before, but that should've been brought to light at some point.

I yank my shoulder straps tight and straighten up. Waiting for a punch line that never comes is always awkward. 'Scout stares at me with those big, blue eyes and doubt edges into my mind. "You are," comes out with my exhale. I take a step forward, not entirely sure what I'm trying to do. "Then why did you… Jumping out of a plane was kinda' your idea."

"Yeah, we're kind of in a hurry."

"But you're afraid of heights."

He pushes both hands against his face with a groan, "I didn't really think that through."

Something about the situation gets to me and I have to chuckle. Ignoring his exasperated look, I start helping him into his chute.

"What's so funny?" he asks as I click the belt home around his waist and reach for the straps at his chest. The bulky fabric of his coat makes the straps a tight fit, even after they've been loosened.

My growing smirk probably doesn't help things any, but I can't stop it, "Is it considered ironic when someone with wings is afraid of heights?"

He rolls his eyes and grabs a pair of yellow-tinted snow goggles from the crates the BPRD dropped off with Abe's helicopter. "When you spend the better part of eighty years with your feet planted firmly on the ground, you get used to it. Why do you think I take pills before we fly?"

Wait, what? "Since when?"

"You are the most unobservant creature on the face of the planet! Since forever, Hellboy. That's why I always go to sleep on the plane," he points out, snapping the goggles into place.

"What did you take when you were a wolf, horse tranquilizer? Over the counter stuff didn't exactly do much for you then," I explain, trying to make the pieces fit together when I didn't even realize there was a puzzle to do. Maybe he's right, maybe I am unobservant… I'd like to think I know everything about John by now, but I'm feelin' like a bit of an ass here.

'Scout handles the chute release delicately, muttering, "Bear."

"What?"

"The tranquilizers," he drops the cord and finally meets my eyes. "They were designed for bears."

"Okay, we're just going to let that one go."

The copilot comes out of the cockpit and motions at the door, "You guys going to do this or what?"

"Yeah. Give us the green light when you get over a good area," I tell him before turning back to 'Scout. "Okay, crash course in-"

He winces and butts in, "Do you have to call it that?"

My tail twitches slightly. I'm trying not to be annoyed since I know he's freaked out, but I've only got about thirty seconds to get him prepped for this. "After you jump, count to five and pull the rip cord. If your chute fails, this is the back up," I finish by touching the bright red cord I'm talking about.

Before his feet can get too cold, I slap the button to open the cargo doors and yank him into position. I doubt he's going to jump on his own so I'll probably need to drag him out when I go. He won't like it, but he already said we're in a hurry.

Freezing air races around us the moment the door starts moving. It roars against my ears and gets my adrenaline going. Honestly, I don't really like jumping out of planes either. I had a chute fail back in '78 and the landing was more than just a bitch, it was three rolled into one. I was lucky I landed where I did, since the spruce trees broke my fall, but I've been wary of it ever since.

My gaze flicks to the light above the door. I'm not sure if they're going to use it, but I don't have to wonder long. The light flares and John takes off down the ramp. I'm half a second behind him. I should've known better than to think he couldn't do it. Even scared shitless, Boyscout will do just about anything. If he couldn't perform under pressure, he never would've made it as an agent.

Our feet bang against the metal and we sprint down the ramp and then it's gone. My stomach slams against my spine as I start the drop. The thrill of it replaces everything else. John's a few feet below me and a little to the right, not far enough out of the way. If he pulls his chute, we're going to crash into each other. I lean left to give us both more room just as he reaches for his ripcord. His chute opens flawlessly and he whips past me.

I fall another second or two, watching the ground grown underneath me before I pull the chute release. The chute opens fine, jerking all of the restraints against my chest and shoulders.

"Fuck," I grunt from the force of it.

Above me, I hear John shout, "Let's never do that again!"

I chuckle as I start looking for a good place to land. I'm not great at controlling a parachute, but I know enough to angle myself where I want to go. Didn't really have enough time to tell John about the handles that can angle your trajectory. There are small stands of trees everywhere. It's not quite a forest, but there's enough obstacles to make landing a pain in the ass. I pull to the right to avoid a couple pines. The snow sucks at my feet as I hit the ground and I stumble. I throw my stone hand out to catch myself, sinking up to my elbow.

Branches crash behind me and I get to my feet just in time to see John's chute get hung up on the trees. He jerks back and forth from the momentum, cussing up a storm. 'Scout reaches into the lines to yank on them.

"'Scout, babe, quit it. Look down."

He does and freezes, his hands sliding out of the cords. A fall of almost twenty feet would probably break his leg so it'd be best if he doesn't bust the branches that are holding him up. John mutters something I don't catch while I'm unfastening my harness.

"What?"

"Please, please get me down! Just get… please…" he trails off, his face flushing. Even with the giant-ass goggles covering half of his features, I can tell how embarrassed he is.

I trudge through the snow, examining the tree carefully. There aren't too many branches low to the ground. The only one that looks like it could hold my weight is about two feet above my reach. I don't climb well. In fact, I don't think I've successfully climbed a tree since I was ten. Used to do it all the time, but I wasn't nearly as bulky then.

A giant black bird lands on the limb that John's chute is hung up on. I swear the things looks smug, like we really suck at flying and it thinks it's funny. 'Scout gives a little startled shout when he notices the bird and it takes off.

As he starts doing that calming-breathing thing he does when a case is really getting to him, I shout jokingly, "Don't hyperventilate up there." I drop my voice as I'm running through my options, "I've just gotta' figure out how to…"

Really, I don't know how I'm going to get to him. The trees are too far apart to brace my feet on and the bark looks flaky, so I don't know if I can stick a knife in it to climb… I guess I could try and catch him, but I don't think 'Scout's going to go for that idea.

"Red," 'Scout draws out my name in alarm.

"I'm coming, just give me a minute."

"Red!"

I look up then, thinking maybe the branch is giving way, and see something I've never seen before. I don't get to say that all that often anymore. At first glance, they look like six winged chicks on horses. Their extremely shapely bodies disappear after the navel, melting into the middle of the horse's backs. The animals have large, feathered wings coming out of their flanks and the human parts of them have a matching pair coming from their backs. All of the horses are black with blonde manes and tails the same bleach-looking hue as the riders' hair.

My first intuition says they're Valkyries.


	6. Valhalla

- HB

The six Valkyries and I stare at each other across the hundred yards or so between us. They're the definition of calm, but their horses are going ape shit, pawing at the snow and tossing their heads. They're all armed to the teeth, carrying shields in their left hands and gigantic spears in the right. If a guy was carrying around a weapon that big, you'd know he was compensating. It seems like they're waiting on something. Nobody drags their asses out in this kind of cold, especially armed that well unless they've got something to prove.

I move towards them slowly, yelling over my shoulder, "Stay here."

"Is that a joke?"

Before I go ten steps, the Valkyries charge. All of them come at me with their weapons held high like they want to make me into mince meat. I grab my gun. Behind me, I hear 'Scout shouting something like, "Wait, we're not here to fight," but I don't think these girls are listening. I take aim at the one in the lead. My first shot misses completely and the second ricochets off her helmet. I don't have time for a third.

I leap back just as the first bitch swings for me, going into a roll to avoid getting smacked by her shield. The snow slides in under my jacket as I right myself, cold and wet against my skin. There isn't a lot of time to cringe about that as a Clydesdale-sized hoof slams down about an inch from my head. I swat the leg with my stone hand and the horse and girl scream in tandem.

The horseflesh slams together as they all try to get at me. One sticks her spear down into the fray, trying to impale me and missing as I duck beneath another Valkyrie's stomach. One of these chicks would be a pain in the ass to fight, but with all six of them crowded in the same space, they're actually easier to dodge.

"Enough!"

At the sound of the voice, all the Valkyries are gone. They back away from me, but keep me encircled. In the same direction they came from, there's another mounted figure. This one is actually a rider instead of some freaky, centaur wannabe. There's something weird about his horse though, something I can't quite… holy shit it has six legs. Then that guy has to be Odin.

Even from here, I can tell that he's a big bastard, easily as tall as me and almost as broad. He's wearing a bearskin across his shoulders that he probably killed himself in hand-to-hand combat. Mountain men like to prove how tough they are like that.

Odin dismounts and walks through the furrows of snow the Valkyries left behind. When he gets closer, I regrettably put my gun back into my holster as a show of good faith. I can only hope that's what he sees it as. If he thinks I'm surrendering, we're going to have problems. Not that we started off on the best foot as is.

He stops within arm's reach and studies me with the one eye he's got. The big, black bird from earlier swoops in and lands on his shoulder. It wasn't close enough for me to see before, but the bird also only has one eye and it's the same icy blue as Odin's.

"Look, we need to talk to you about-"

He walks past me, shoving his shoulder against mine. I have to grit my teeth to keep from calling him a jackass.

"Anubis sent us, we need-"

"Shut up, hell spawn," he spits without looking back at me.

I bristle at his words, my stone hand curling into a fist as I try to push down the urge to punch him. Anubis said that Odin would be difficult, but I might just have to duke it out with this guy.

He stares up at John for a moment before nodding at one of the Valkyries, "Cut him down."

She hands off her shield and spreads all four wings, flapping them hard enough to fill the air with snow. Ignoring my threats that his bitch better be careful getting Boyscout down, Odin follows after the Valkyrie at a walk. As bizarre as those things are running around, they're extremely graceful in the air. Doesn't seem like something that big should even be able to get off the ground, but she works her wings in perfect unison. The ones on her back control her direction while the really big ones on the horse are what give her the lift.

She grabs John's harness in one hand and cuts the mess of lines with a long dagger. When I walk back to the tree, the other Valkyries follow me. The one with 'Scout starts her descent and I can hear him thanking her profusely. Most of the way down, she drops him at Odin's feet. It wasn't a long fall, but 'Scout still grunts from the impact.

"Hey!" I shout at her.

She doesn't look like she gives a flying fuck what I think. She folds her wings and lands next to her boss.

Brushing the snow from the knees of his pants, John gets up and explains, "We came with a message about-" He doesn't get any farther than I did.

Odin grabs John's shoulder and throws him down. Before I can get the chance to be really pissed, he shoves his hand through the back of 'Scout's jacket. John screams as Odin plants his foot in the middle of his back and yanks one of his wings out. The position he pushes it into makes John howl in agony.

I pull my gun and stick it against Odin's temple. Whether you're a god or a mortal, a bullet from the Samaritan at this range will fuck up your day. I hear the scrape of metal on metal just before five spear points are pressed against my throat. None of them cut me; it's more of a warning.

"You've got three seconds to let him go or I'm going to paint everything in gray-matter," I growl, flicking the hammer back with my thumb.

Odin loosens his hold enough that John's screams turn into whimpering. His good eye narrows at me, "Angels are not allowed on my land. They are vile creatures."

"Yeah, we figured that out when a couple of 'em tried to open the gate in Eden. But this one's with me and if you break his wing, things are going to get real ugly between us."

"Why do you defend him, hell spawn?" he practically hisses. His eyebrows draw together but they're so damn bushy that they merge in the middle.

If he calls me 'hell spawn' again, I'm going to shoot him anyway. I've only got four shots left though and the freak show sextuplets aren't going to be too happy if I kill him. I'll have to figure out a different way to deal with them… "I'm fond of him, I'm saving him for a snack, we play chess on Fridays, what's it matter to you? I'm the one with the gun."

Odin glances down at John and back at me, a smile creeping onto his face. "He's your kjᴂreste!" He laughs sharply and proclaims, "You've got a long fall ahead of you, boy!"

He gets up and lets John go, still chuckling to himself. I lower my gun, putting it away only when it seems like Odin's not going to try anything else. I grab 'Scout's arm to pull him up. He's shaking a little. It's most visible in the one wing he's got out. I start to reach out to smooth down the feathers where Odin grabbed him, but that's just going to end with 'Scout sticking his tongue down my throat so my hand falls on his shoulder instead as I pull him close.

"You okay?" I ask against his ear, rubbing his arm through the thick fabric of his coat.

He nods vigorously and pulls his wing in. Even as he tries to reassure me, "I'm okay. I'm fine," he's still staring at Odin with wide, bewildered eyes. Not so sure I buy it.

The six-legged horse comes trotting over and Odin swings himself into the saddle. Wait, is he just leaving after all that?

"Hey!" I shout, jumping forward to grab the animal's reigns. It snaps at my fingers and rears up, flailing its front set of legs. I have to take a few steps back to avoid getting kicked. "The angels could be coming for your gate!"

With a sharp jerk to the reigns, Odin gets his horse under control. "You know nothing about my gate, hell spawn," he snaps, narrowing his good eye at me.

My growl comes out before I can stop it, "Call me that one more time, you son of a-"

"Red," John chides me softly.

"No, fuck him! We came all this way to warn you about this shit and you won't listen to anything we're fucking saying!"

Odin sits up straighter in his saddle, warning, "You will show me respect, hell spawn."

"That's it!"

My punch lands solidly on the right side of his jaw, knocking him off the horse. Vaguely, I realize that the Valkyries are completely still. Apparently fighting with him is not as bad as trying to shoot him. Boyscout, on the other hand, gets in front of me.

"Red, don't you dare!"

I gently push him aside. I'm going to fuck this guy over, even if it pisses John off. Odin's pushed WAY too many buttons and seems to think that I'm just going to take it. By the time I get around the horse, Odin's on his feet, his fists held at the ready. His grin is bloody from my punch.

"Well? Let's see it then!" he crows.

Fucking bastard is mocking me. My anger surges. Most people say you shouldn't let it control you in a fight, but I usually kick more ass once I'm mad.

Odin blocks my next punch and slams his elbow into the side of my ribcage. Pain radiates through my guts. Shit he hits hard. I throw my right hand at him and, even though he pulls his arms up to block it, he still goes flying. Odin lands in an explosion of snow, but he's up before the air can clear.

We both charge back into the fight, matching blow for blow. He picks me up by the lapels of my jacket and tosses me into the pines. I roll out of the way just before he drives his knee into the ground where I was just laying. My clothes are almost soaked through with my sweat and blood and all the melting snow. I'll be fucking freezing when we stop moving, but I can't feel it much now.

Off to the side, 'Scout is yelling at us, "Knock it off! This is not what we came here for!" Well, he's really probably just yelling at me.

If I keep ignoring him, it's very likely that he'll try and break up the fight and that could be dangerous. I need to finish this before he does something stupid. God knows I love him, but he doesn't always think before he throws himself into things.

I get an idea watching the direction Odin tends to move in when he's avoiding me. I start with a left hook that he dodges, but it puts him right in the patch of my stone hand. The punch lands in the middle of his stomach and he tumbles backwards from the force of it. A hit like that would kill a human so I'm not surprised when he stays down. He lets out a low groan followed by a chuckle as he rubs his stomach.

"Alright, you've earned my respect. What should I call you?" Odin asks as he gingerly sits up.

I really didn't expect that knocking him around a little would get him on our side. My blood is still pumping fast and hard but this fight has to be over. I get the feeling that Odin's respect is easy to lose, so I don't want to fuck things up. "Hellboy," I say as I offer him my hand. After a second of hesitation, he takes it and I haul him up. I motion to 'Scout, "And that's John."

John nods 'hello' but keeps his distance. He's bound to be leery after Odin tried to rip off his wing. Nodding back, Odin limps over to his horse. I guess I did more damage than I thought. He gets into the saddle much more slowly than he did the first time.

"Now, what's this about my gate?"

I explain the whole situation, covering Gabriel, Uriel, the destruction of Eden, and our fears. He listens carefully and, when I finish, he asks, "And you think they're coming for my gate?"

John steps up beside me, "We're not sure which gate they're going to try next, but it's possible."

Throwing his head back, Odin starts laughing. It's not just a chuckle, it's a gut-busting roar like John just told the funniest damn joke he's ever heard. 'Scout glances at me with an obvious question on his face but all I can do is shrug. He slows to a snigger and wipes at his eyes.

The wind picks up as he says, "It would be best to show you."

Suddenly, there's a full-blown snowstorm screaming around us. The snow comes in sideways on the wind, so thick that you can't see anything. I reach over to grab 'Scout's arm and feel him clutch my fingers. This is some kind of magic and I'm not taking any chances that Odin still thinks Boyscout is a threat. This is the weather Norway lives with and I don't doubt that he can fight in it, especially since it seems like he can control it.

"Odin, what the hell is this?" I yell but don't get any answer.

As quickly as it started, the storm stops and all the snow starts drifting slowly to the ground. I take a good look around to gauge Odin's position but end up staring in shock at our surroundings. We're nowhere near the place where we landed. As far as I can tell, we're about halfway up a mountain, looking out into a wide valley with another, much smaller mountain range splitting the valley in two. It's not so much a mountain range as it is a series of hills. The valley floor is covered in trees so thick they'd be easy to get lost in, but the weird hills in the middle don't have anything growing on them.

'Scout slowly loosens his hold on my hand and whispers, "Whoa."

"Yeah," I agree, glancing over my shoulder as Odin walks up next to us. The Valkyries and his ugly-ass horse aren't anywhere in sight. Guess he left them behind.

I've experienced a lot of different modes of magic transportation over the years, but snow? Who the hell would ever think to use snow? There are a lot of better ways to travel than getting giant flakes of ice blown into your eyes.

"You want to know why there is no threat to my gate?" Odin asks with a smirk. Before we can even nod, he cups his hands around his mouth and shouts into the valley, "Oye, Fenris!"

There's a low rumble and then the mound in the middle of the valley starts to move. The tapered cliff at one end lifts and two giant yellow eyes snap open. It's a fucking wolf! It's a wolf the size of a fucking skyscraper! As it sits up, it shakes the snow out of its fur. Slowly, it turns to look at us, a growl like thunder bouncing around the valley. With all the snow gone, I can see a large band running around its neck and chains with links the size of semi trucks anchoring the animal to the mountains.

"If that's guarding your gate, then I can see why you're not worried," 'Scout offers with a nervous laugh that sounds like a cough.

Odin shakes his head and braces one foot up on a rock, "No, that beast is my gate. You must enter it's maw to enter the underworld. You would need binoculars to see the keyholes on his collar from here." When he mentions the keyholes, he glances at my stone hand. "I didn't know that the demons had a key, or at least they were never meant to."

Fenris lunges towards us and the chains snap taut with a clang that causes a small avalanche on the opposite side of the valley. He's still a half mile from us, but when he slams his mouth shut, I can feel a breeze. He snarls and pulls at the chains, digging furrows in the ground and knocking over full-grown trees as he struggles. 'Scout takes a step back and I definitely don't blame him.

"Shut up you big bastard!" Odin shouts like he was scolding a family dog. "That monster is the end of everything. When he's set loose, Ragnarok will be upon us." He's quiet a moment and then drops his voice to a deadly monotone, "That key you brought with you had best not be for that purpose, Hellboy."

"It's not." I turn to face him. "I know whoever sent me up here wanted me to fuck over the world, but it's never going to happen."

He slaps my shoulder with a half-smile, nodding, "Good. Good man."

"How do you keep people from finding this valley?" 'Scout asks. It's abrupt, but he's got a really good point. With a world that's been explored in almost every corner and satellites taking pictures from space, it seems like a gigantic wolf would've been discovered by now. Unless everybody who sets foot in this valley gets eaten, which is a very real possibility. That thing looks like it could eat entire crowds of people in a single bite.

"Technically, this valley is not part of your world. It's attached to all the surrounding land, but it cannot be seen or reached from your world. The runes carved into the roots of the mountains keep it hidden."

"Powerful magic," I mention offhand.

Odin nods, "Extremely powerful and old. The spells were written when time had barely begun."

"So, even if he does get out, wouldn't those spells keep him from getting to our world?" John's question has the tiniest hint of hopefulness in it.

"Fenris was sired by Loki. No magic will contain him. He will cross through those spells and feel nothing, but his passing will shatter these mountains like ceramic."

"Great…" 'Scout sighs.

Fenris circles the valley on his short chains, eyeing us hungrily. I wouldn't even begin to know how to fight a monster that big. Its skull is probably thicker than the walls of Fort Knox. Even if you could get a bullet through the bone, it would be less than needle prick. It would be like a mosquito trying to take out a human being. Besides being an annoyance, there wouldn't be much of an effect.

"Well, enough of this beast. We go to Valhalla next."

- John

I shiver as the snowstorm flares around us again. The wind cuts right through my jacket and it was made for this kind of weather. HB must be miserable. With all that's going on, it seems like the cold would be the last thing on my mind but I've got frost forming on my eyelashes and that's really hard to ignore. I snap the goggles back down over my eyes in the hopes of keeping my eyelids from freezing shut.

When the air clears, we're in front of a massive building that looks like it's carved into the face of a cliff. Even from here, I can see all of the elaborately detailed engravings that make up the pillars and the walls behind them. The roof looks like it's constructed out of shields. Every few feet, there's a large window with orange light spilling out of it. The way the light dances on the ground makes me think it's firelight. The din that's audible all the way out here is like the crowd at a concert. It sounds like there's a party going on inside.

Beside me, I hear HB chuckle and look over to see him grinning. I have to ask, "What?" because the way our day has played out means that something is due to go wrong any minute and I have no idea what he's so happy about.

"It's Valhalla," he says like it's the most meaningful thing in the world.

I raise an eyebrow, "So?"

"It's Valhalla," HB repeats with an emphasis on 'Valhalla' but it doesn't make it any more meaningful. I stare at him blankly long enough that he sighs, "Valhalla is every guy's dream, John. It's like the best bar the world could ever come up with times a hundred. There's never-ending beer and food and these girls…" he trails off and clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. "Plus all the greatest heroes who ever lived are partying here until the world ends."

Odin brushes past us and starts up the steep stairs that lead to the entrance, "Well, only half of the victorious dead reside here. Freya gets the other half… who knows what she even wants with them, the conniving…" He shakes his head and turns, "Come, even the great heroes of the world must rest and eat."

Hellboy starts up the steps without hesitation, but I don't know that we have time to drink and relax. We need to get moving. Twelve gates is a lot to cover even with Anubis slipping through shadow to visit them. He said it himself that there were places he can't go.

"Red, we need to get back to the airstrip. We're due in Athens in sixteen hours." I hate to be the voice of reason when he's so excited, but somebody has to do it.

He stops, his head hanging low between his shoulders. He knows I'm right. I think he mutters an obscenity of some kind, but I can't really hear it over the noise coming from the great hall.

"I can have you in Athens by then. We just have to hope that Athena doesn't notice me," Odin offers with a shrug. "She and I have been having a tiff for the past few centuries."

HB's grin returns and he looks back at me. There's a small pit in my stomach that's been growing ever since I laid eyes on Valhalla, but how many chances are we going to get to enter such a legendary place? He'll be sore about it for years if I tell him no.

"Alright, fine. Even heroes need to eat, right?"

Red gives his excited victory shout and comes down to give me a kiss before rushing towards the doors. I follow a little more slowly, shaking my head at his antics. Every once in a while, I entertain the idea that he seems like he's getting more mature as he gets older, but then he does something like that and I know it's not true.

I come through the giant doorway and have to remember to close my mouth. Rows and rows of tables run across the length of a room that would put most football stadiums to shame. Every single seat has someone in it and they're all huge men covered in scars. Some of them are arm wrestling, others are having drinking competitions, and the rest just seem to be drunk and rowdy. Circulating among the tables are blonde women holding mugs and trays of food. I blush when I realize that not all of them are wearing tops.

Even in a crowd like this, Hellboy is easy to spot. I jog to catch up with him and Odin. As we make our way through the hall, everyone raises a glass to Odin's passing. I study the heroes as we walk. A majority of them have classic Norwegian features that are associated with Vikings, but some are clearly not native. I spot at least one man wearing Grecian-style armor with plumed helms, possibly the source of the 'tiff' between Athena and Odin. I doubt she wanted her war heroes whisked off to this afterlife.

Red snags a leg of something off a tray as one of the women walks by us. A little flare of anger wells up in me when he turns to stare at her. I don't say anything but I'm really tempted. We finally get to the front of the room, where there's a table far grander than the others sitting up on a raised platform. There's only one chair at the table and it's flanked by two wolves. Odin falls into the chair without much of a backwards glance. Vikings weren't really known for their hospitality, so I'm guessing this is our cue to find somewhere to sit.

Looking over the crowded tables, I get a flashback to junior high, circling the lunchroom and hoping that someone will let me sit with them. Except these guys are a lot meaner looking than a bunch of preteens. Some of them stare back at me like I'm a member of a freak show. I'm only hoping that it's because I'm alive and not because I'm an angel.

We're not standing there ten seconds before Odin motions at one of the tables and bellows, "Make room!"

A few of the table's occupants shuffle away, leaving us a pair of chairs. We take the seats. HB tries to flag down one of the girls, but I take a good look at the people around us. There's a man to our left wearing combat gear from World War II, British I think. Next to him is a barbarian with tribal tattoos running across his forehead and cheeks. Strangely, the two are deep in conversation. I can't even begin to imagine what the two of them would have to talk about.

Several plates of meat are set on the table in front of me and the smell reminds me that I haven't eaten since we got on the plane half a day ago. There's an entire roast bird that could be any number of species, but I don't really care what it used to be. I dig in ravenously, the juices sliding down my chin. Belatedly, I realize that there aren't any napkins on the table. Out of the corner of my eye, I see one of the victorious dead roughly wipe his mouth across his sleeve and it dawns on me that napkins would be wasted on this group.

Mugs of some kind of ale join the food. I'm not much of a beer drinker, but this stuff is like liquid ecstasy. I've never had a drink taste so good. Even though the meal is entirely comprised of meat (too bad I'm not a wolf anymore), everything is amazing. HB doesn't even seem to be breathing between bites. I guess he's enjoying it too.

It should bother me that he downs three mugs of ale before I can finish my one, but it doesn't really come to my attention that it might be a problem until dinner is over. Red leans back in his chair, tilting it so it's resting on two legs, and proceeds to stare at the busty blonde server just down the row. I punch his arm.

"Hey!" He gripes and glares at me.

It doesn't quell my anger any, just makes it worse. "I'm sitting right here, Red!"

He snorts in response, loudly proclaiming, "I wasn't doin' anything," before he throws back his mug and chugs the rest.

Christ, he's getting drunk. I haven't had half of my drink and I can already feel that buzzing in the back of my skull. This stuff is much stronger than what I'm used to. It's like drinking shots out of a mug… if shots tasted amazing and didn't feel like I was swallowing fire.

As soon as Red slams the empty mug on the table, one of the half-naked women appears to refill it. HB's eyes immediately fix on her ample breasts. He probably hasn't seen a bare tit since he was in a relationship with Liz and that was almost fifty years ago. I'm going to blame his sudden fascination on his lack of experience with them and that there are more exposed boobs in this room than at a strip club in LA. Sometimes I forget that his sexual interest points in both directions. I can understand where he's coming from, but that doesn't mean that this isn't pissing me off.

"Hellboy!"

His head whips around, guilt playing on his features, "What?"

My brow furrows deeply as I study him. I must've looked hurt, because he starts apologizing and that's usually a last resort for him. Except that the apology is slurred and insincere. He tries to pull me to him, cooing what he knows I want to hear, but his amusement is scarcely hidden beneath his tone.

"I'm sorry, baby. I didn't mean to, so…"

I draw the line at being pulled into his lap. Much to his confusion, I shove at his chest and twist out of his grasp. "No, you tell me sorry when you mean it."

"John," he sighs, grabbing at my arm.

I step back to avoid him, nearly tripping over my chair. Hurt rips at my insides. It's stupid. I shouldn't be so upset when he hasn't cheated or even touched one of those girls, but it's the first time in decades that he's looked at anyone like that but me.

All of the dead around us have gone quiet, watching our interaction. I don't want to argue with him with all these people around. My face flushes when I realize exactly how many people are staring at us. It's Red's slightly glazed gaze that's the worst. I need to get out of here.

I shove the chair back into place and push a finger against HB, hissing, "If you do anything but look, I'm never going to forgive you."

A properly clothed server shows up by my elbow and asks, "Would you like to be shown to a room?"

"Yes," I mumble, dragging after her.

I only glance back once, but there's a tall blonde in a medieval gown talking into Red's ear. I don't notice his troubled look as much as I notice the way she's gently trailing her fingers across his shoulder and down his arm. My stomach does a back flip and I turn around.

The server and I enter a darker hallway tucked between two fireplaces and move past rows of closed doors. She's getting ahead of me, her pace much more brisk than mine. I'm too busy mucking through my thoughts to go any faster. I don't think Red and I have ever had a fight like that. Normally we shout back and forth a little and one of us yields, it's never just me screaming at him. Alcohol releases your inhibitions and the fact that his first uninhibited act was to stare at women tears me up.

The girl stops in front of one of the identical doors and pushes it open, holding her arm out in a gesture that means I should go in first. I step inside and wince. The room looks like it was furnished by a sporting goods store. There are animal skins spread across the floor and the walls and the end of the bed, and the light fixture looks like it's made out of elk antlers. There are two spears and a shield mounted over the bed. It's not the worst décor I've seen, but it comes close.

"Should I see your companion to the same room when he's ready?"

I shake my head, "No, he can sleep somewhere else."


	7. Fate

- John

I must've dosed because I wake up to someone gently shaking my shoulder. My first thought is Hellboy, but then I remember that I'm angry with him. I roll over, grumbling, "I don't want to talk, Red. Go to sleep."

"Wake up, angel," the voice is adamant and very female.

I sit up to find that I'm surrounded by women, which is unnerved to say the least. It's six of the serving girls. They're actually dressed now, although their attire is all leather and fur that leaves little to the imagination. It's not much of an improvement.

"What do you want?" I ask, unable to hide my bewilderment.

The idea that Odin still wants me dead is scratching at the back of my mind. I try to pretend that it's just paranoia kicking in, but it's a hard feeling to shake. Besides, why would he send glorified waitresses to do me in?

"At Odin's request, we are here to help you understand the glory and freedom of flight," the one who woke me up explains.

Then again, maybe he did send them to kill me. My mind goes back to the cliff that this building is carved into. They could just take me to the top and… I try not to finish that thought.

"Um… why?"

A few of the women exchange looks and one of them snickers. The tallest crosses her arms over her chest, "Because any being with wings should know how to use them." She sounds annoyed, like dealing with me is an inconvenience.

Several of them grab my arms and yank me out of bed. I'm still dressed in my winter gear, so I can't really make the excuse of needing to change and running away.

"What if I don't want to learn? I do just fine on the ground," I counter, shifting my weight back so they can't keep dragging me along. Except these girls are a lot stronger than they look and I stumble as they pull me forward.

I'm not sure which of them answers me, "If you plan to do battle with the angels, you must learn how to fly."

They drag me out into the hall, staying in a tight cluster around me. My panic is running in high gear now. I don't want to start a fight with them in case my fear turns out to be unfounded, but I can't think of another alternative.

The sound of hooves on stone startles me. I crane my neck to look behind me and am shocked to see that one of the waitresses has turned into one of the half-horse Valkyries HB fought with earlier. Panic is no longer the proper word for it. Terror grips my chest in a stranglehold.

I plant my feet, wrenching my arms away from them. The sound of tearing fabric comes as the armor springs forward to wrap around me. My coat falls away in ribbons when I bolt down the hall. It takes me a half a second to realize that I'm headed away from the main hall, but there's no way I'll get past them if I turn around. My only option is forward. I take the first turn I see, trying not to focus on the deafening clack of hoof beats behind me.

Every time the hall branches, I take the left turn, hoping it'll lead me back to entrance of Valhalla. I jerk to a stop as the hallway dead ends in a long stairwell. I don't want to go to another floor, but the Valkyries are right on my heels, so I take the stairs two at a time. Mentally, I'm cussing my stupid fight with Hellboy and the strength of the Norse ale and the fact that he chose tonight to remember that women used to interest him. If he'd been curled up with me, maybe this wouldn't be happening.

The stairwell doesn't open to another floor, it just keeps going. Judging by the burn in my legs and lungs, I've gone seven or eight stories at least, but I haven't seen a hint of another hallway or landing. The metal ring of my feet slapping against the steps and heavy gasps of my breathing inside the helm overwhelm everything else. I slow down a little, turning back to look down the dark tunnel of stairs. The Valkyries are nowhere in sight.

I'm not sure if horses can use stairs, but I'm hoping not. Although, they could've changed back into their human shapes easily enough. I keep walking, listening intently for my pursuers. I would give up almost anything to have my wolf hearing right now. I would have a much better idea of where the Valkyries were if I was still a lycanthrope.

A large, wooden door with ugly metal fittings looms in the darkness. Thank god. I thought I'd climb these stairs until time stopped. The door is tilted back, like the exit of a basement or root cellar. It must lead into some kind of… Honestly, I don't even have a guess. Does Valhalla have an attic? Even despite being chased by murderous horse monsters, I can't help but smile at the idea of Valhalla's attic. I can imagine them storing all of the extra beer mugs next to the Christmas decorations and hot water heater. It would be so very domestic.

I hesitate with my hand on the latch. If the Valkyries aren't following me up the stairs, maybe I can just wait for a while and head back down the way I came. I have no idea what'll be on the other side of the door and I don't want it to be worse than what I've already encountered. Knowing my luck, it'll be some trap door that leads back to Fenris's den. I'll wish I was facing the Valkyries if I end up staring at a mouth full of teeth the size of SUVs.

There's a faint noise from deep within the stairwell, so faint that I'm not even sure I heard it. I suck in a lungful of breath and hold it, listening carefully. The shout comes again. Shit, they are following me! I don't have time to consider the door anymore, it's the only way.

I shove hard at the polished wood and am surprised at how easily the door glides open. Cold slaps at me, biting the tiny bit of flesh it can get to through my armor. My heart sinks as I step out onto a wide, flat plain covered in snow. The only thing breaking the empty space is a tree that's so tall it disappears into the night sky. It's like the trees in Eden before everything burned, so big that it seems like their branches could shade the entire earth.

With my recent experience with giant trees, I don't want to be anywhere near that thing. I run in the opposite direction, not sure where else to go. Not three steps onto the plain, my feet slide out from under me and my shoulder slams into the ground. Pain rushes through my side, but it's not enough to keep me down. I scramble to hands and knees, trying to get my feet back under me but I can't get any traction. It's like trying to run on…

Ice.

I sweep some of the snow off the ground and realize that I'm on a frozen pond or lake. The waterline isn't visible on the horizon. Normally you can see the faint ridge where water meets bank, but it all looks the same.

Something underneath the ice catches my eye, something moving. I clear away a bigger area and peer into the lake. In the back of my head, my rational thought keeps screaming that maybe I don't want to know what swims around in the Norse homelands. If they have wolves big enough to devour half a city and still be hungry, the other creatures here can't be much better.

I glance behind me to make sure the Valkyries haven't come out onto the plain yet. I'm wasting time, but I sweep my arm across the ice to let a little of the moonlight into the lake. Faintly, three figures come into view. At first I think they're some kind of fish with large, elaborate fins, but the more I stare, the more their shapes become clear to me. They're women with long, flowing gowns. Flashes of their alabaster skin appear as they twist and turn in the water, their hair billowing like golden wheat in a breeze. Their movements are a mesmerizing dance.

When I shake out of my stare, it dawns on me that they're weaving something. Each one is holding a thin, shining strand of thread in both hands and their dance is bringing the pieces together into a cord that disappears into the depths.

The loud shouts of the Valkyries interrupt my curiosity. As they bust out of the doorway, they take what I can only assume are their battle forms, wings flaring and horses screaming. I force the armor back into the disk. As much as I need protection, I need my boots more. The metal will never get traction on the ice. I finally get my feet underneath me and run.

Without the armor or my jacket, the frigid air rips at my skin. At least it's not snowing anymore. My heart hammers at jackrabbit speed, bouncing against my ribcage like it's trying to get out. I don't dare look behind me. The sound of hooves pounding across the ice is enough to drive me forward. My boots still slip and slide on the surface, but I'm doing a lot better in them than I was in the armor. When I lose my balance, I don't waste any time scrambling back into a sprint.

The horizon changes slowly as I run. It splits into two. There's the edge I thought was the horizon, and then another line that's much farther in the distance. Only once they become more distinct do I realize what they are. I'm running toward the edge of a cliff.

"Oh shit!" I shout.

Stopping is a problem on the ice. I slow down much too quickly and fall back on my ass, continuing to slide. Rolling to one side, I dig my fingers into the ground to find purchase, but my fingertips scrape raw on the frozen lake and I keep moving. Without any prompting from me, my wings burst out of my back and flare open. The wind resistance helps, but my lower half still slides off the edge.

My hands catch on something hard under the snow and I hang onto it. The Valkyries are still twenty or thirty yards from me, but they're slowing down. They're much more graceful on the ice than I am. They shift their weight back onto their haunches and open their wings, only gliding a little ways before they stop.

I flap my wings uselessly, banging them against the cliff with a wince. My toes dig against the wall but it's just as slick as everything else. I think I'm hanging off a frozen waterfall. Against my better judgment, I look over my shoulder. I swear my heart stops. I'm off to the far right of Valhalla's entrance, dangling hundreds of feet over empty air. The dark, frozen water at the base of the cliff will not break my fall. Images of me splattering on the ice flash through my mind. I think I whimper in fear, but I'm not sure.

Above me, the Valkyries start yelling, "Fly, little angel, fly!" One of them cackles.

Beneath my hands, the ground trembles. I tighten my fingers and pray that I don't lose my grip. A sharp cracking noise rips through the air and the lake behind the Valkyries bulges and shatters into massive chunks. They turn, their horses stomping their feet nervously. I stare in awe as a massive figure emerges from the ice. Even outside of the water, the woman's hair and gown continue to flow around her as though they are caught in a swift wind. She is MUCH bigger than I initially thought watching them underneath the ice.

As she steps out of the water, all of the Valkyries bow, their horses going down onto one knee with their front legs. The giant's face is young and beautiful and very unearthly. Her skin seems to glow in the moonlight. From here, it's hard to tell exactly how tall she is, but I'd guess about twenty or twenty-five feet.

My fingers slip a little and I stop holding my breath and go back to hyperventilating.

The woman's voice is loud, but melodic, almost like listening to an orchestra comprised of flutes. She lifts her hands, the shining threads still draping from them. "This is not the fate of this angel, sisters. Cease now."

The Valkyries talk amongst themselves quietly. They seem to be arguing.

"But he is one of celestial flesh, Odin ordered all of their kind destroyed."

"Skuld has spoken. Who are you to dispute her?"

"You know the will of the Norns is final!"

"I will not have this untrustworthy thing residing in Valhalla!"

I really wish they could finish this fight after someone pulls me back up. My knuckles ache from trying to hold on and my fingers are going numb from the cold. If there was anything else to grab, I could climb up myself but I can't see anything under the layer of white. I start sliding slowly and my panic mounts.

I barely notice what the Norn says as she points down at me. It's something akin to, "His actions change the course of Ragnarok. Save him or all will perish." After delivering her divination, she sinks back into the water.

An alarmed shout fills me with hope, "John!"

Hellboy explodes through the doorway armed with a spear and shield he must've picked up on his way. The woman I saw with him before, the one in the elaborate medieval gown, is right behind him. She stays near the entrance, one hand pressed to her chest. Red runs towards me, but my grip is almost gone. I flap my wings frantically to keep myself from falling. It's not enough. I try to readjust my hold and suddenly I'm gripping nothing but a handful of snow.

I can't hear anything over my own scream.

- HB

She called herself Freya. Honestly, I'm surprised I remember that since I had a lot of shit, and alcohol, on my mind when she introduced herself. I was watching John storm off and thinking how royally I had fucking things up when she slid up and started talking. At first, I didn't really listen to her. She was babbling about how loyalty and demons didn't really mix, getting under my skin really quickly. As soon as I was getting close to telling her to fuck off, she told me that was why she admired me. And after my fight with 'Scout, that was like a knife in the side.

Freya grabbed my jaw with a firmer grasp than I ever would have expected and turned my head to face her. Like most of the women I've encountered here, she's blonde, but her hair hung down well past her ass and was held back by a gold circlet. What really set her apart from the others were her eyes. Staring into them, I could see my life. I don't know how else to explain it than it was like the most significant points in my life were hiding behind the green of her eyes. Fights I've had, my relationship with John, my father, my friends, everything was there, but there was something else too.

Anung un Rama.

Suddenly the things I knew were gone and they were replaced by things that haven't happened. New York City was burning and I was standing in the middle of it. No, not me, Anung un Rama. People were being torn apart by monsters that were flooding out of the subways and sewer grates. Human beings fled in every direction but never got far. The scene flashed to me sitting on a throne built inside what might be the NYC courthouse, all kinds of creatures filling the room around me. Some of them were eating meat straight off of human corpses, and others were fucking the ones that were still alive. Then I was riding at the head of an army of demons. A tiny cluster of gods stood between me and bringing the same chaos I'd wrought on New York to the rest of the world. Leading them was a painfully familiar figure in golden armor with wings held high and proud. John. My John.

I yanked back so hard that I fell out of my chair, staring up at Freya as she stood.

"You know what you are without him," she said, lifting her chin. "Do not let this be your fate. Go to him."

I nodded mutely and got to my feet, maybe more than a little numbed by what I'd seen. Before I could find someone to tell me where John had gone, Freya stiffened and grabbed my arm. Her nails dug into my bicep. This woman was seriously confusing the hell out of me. She wanted me to go to John, but then she grabbed me to hold me back. She needed to make up her damn mind.

"The Norns are stirring," she said cryptically, like I knew what the hell a Norn was.

And then she was running, grabbing a spear and a shield off the walls and shoving them into my hands. Odin and a lot of the dead got to their feet, but none of them followed us.

"What's going on?" I shouted at her back, suddenly very sober. There was a knot growing in my chest and I knew it had something to do with Boyscout. He'd been out of my sight for over an hour, of course it was him. The kid can't keep out of trouble.

She didn't look back when she answered, "Your lover is going to die. The Norns are stirring because it will change everything! We must get to him now!"

I picked up my pace until I was sprinting as fast as I could, charging past her. "Just tell me where to go!" But when I launched out of the stairwell, shouting John's name, the only thing I was in time to see was him sliding off the edge of a cliff and a group of Valkyries taking to the air.

His scream hits me like a sucker punch to the guts.

"No!" I shout as I run through the snow.

I dart around an opening in the ice, dropping my weapons as I get close to the drop-off. Sliding on the ice a little, I fall to my knees and lean out over the edge to look for some sign of John. I can't see anything. There's not even a spot on the lake below where he might've landed.

"Please, please, please tell me that means he learned to use those wings," I mutter to myself.

"Not quite," Freya's voice is amused.

Anger flares somewhere deep in me. "What the hell is so fucking funny about all this?"

If she's upset that I'm yelling at her, she doesn't let on. All she does is point up at the sky. I follow the motion and relief floods me. One of the Valkyries is holding 'Scout by the back of his shirt. His wings are out, but they're hanging limply by his sides. I guess he couldn't quite figure out how to use them.

The Valkyrie swoops down and lets John go when his feet are just a little ways from the ground. He trips on the ice, but I catch him around the waist before he can fall. 'Scout clutches at me with bloody fingers and pants against my chest, mumbling, "I hate Norway." His wings fold around him and me like they're forming a protective shell. I've never seen him do this before.

My guilt swells a little but I'm not sure whether it's because we fought or because I left him alone. Maybe it's both. I press my lips against the top of his head, pulling him tighter in my arms. "I'm sorry," I say simply, really meaning it this time. I probably owe him some pretty words after my drunken display downstairs, but that can wait.

He just nods. When I finally let him go, we're both smiling idiotically but can't stop touching one another. I keep an arm around his shoulders and his hand comes up to tangle in mine.

The Valkyries all land around us and 'Scout flinches back. I glance at the spear on the ground and then back at them, wondering what the hell happened out here, but Freya steps between them and us. With her hands on her hips, she glares at the Valkyries, practically snarling, "You knew this angel was welcome in Odin's land, how dare you attack him!"

Attack him?

I turn to 'Scout and start looking him over for wounds. As far as I can tell, his hands are the only thing that got messed up. The pads of his fingers are raw. 'Scout squirms and complains while I examine him. I know he hates it when I… what's the word he uses, fuss? I know he hates it when I fuss over him, but I've got every right to be worried.

"You alright? Nothing broken? No stab wounds?"

"Red, I'm fine! Stop. This woman came out of the lake and told them to save me."

Freya whirls with a look of complete shock, like somebody just flashed her, "One of the Norns spoke?"

"Yes, milady. Skuld left the others and came to the surface. She warned us against harming the angel," the Valkyrie nearest to Freya explains.

I have to ask, since I'm a little lost and still have no idea what a Norn is, "Is that weird or something? What do the Norns normally do?"

"The Norns control the strands of fate," Freya says, glancing back at the hole in the ice, "They weave what is, what was, and what will be into a single thread of human existence. While they decide what will happen to each man, woman, and child, they've never directly interfered with something before."

You know what I get out of that? Fate can be changed. Sure it's predetermined what's supposed to happen, but if these Norns had to get involved, then things were about to veer away from what they had planned. It's a very small comfort after some of the things Freya showed me.

A tiny whirlwind of snow kicks up a few feet to our right and, when it settles, Odin is standing there. His eye flicks to Freya, then back to the Valkyries, then over to the hole in the ice. The Valkyries paw the ground, shifting back and forth when he turns his glare onto them.

"Why are the Norns active?" he barks at Freya. "Tell me what is going on."

Freya's expression is deadly. There is some seriously bad blood between these two. I take a step back before the claws can come out. I think Freya was the one he mentioned earlier, the one who takes the other half of the victorious dead. From what I know about Valhalla, Odin takes them from the battlefield to use them to defend the gods when Ragnarok comes. I have no idea why Freya takes the others. Maybe she's got a man harem, who knows…

"You're precious Valkyries nearly killed the one key to humanity's survival is all. Skuld would not stand for it," she whips back at him.

When he turns to the Valkyries, they take off in all directions like a startled flock of pigeons. The wind picks up, blowing hard enough to bring them tumbling back to the ground. It cuts through my coat and I remember that John's jacket is gone. I don't know if he just didn't have time to grab one, or if something happened to it, but he's pressed as close to my side as he can get and is shivering violently. I barely look away from the scene going on between Odin and his women, just opening my jacket so 'Scout can slip inside. I feel his fingers curl in my shirt. They're practically frozen. He must've put his wings away, because I don't have any trouble closing the jacket over him.

Odin grabs the first Valkyrie he gets to and hauls her down by the edge of her breastplate, snarling something I can't hear over the wind. The others get up and cluster around him, some of them taking their human forms. I guess he's chewing them out, but I was kind of hoping for a fight. Damn it.

"How can I be the key to anything?"

I look down at the bulge in my coat, not even sure I heard John right. Pulling the lapel aside so I can see his face, I ask, "What?" I'm vaguely aware that Odin started shouting at the Valkyries, going on about changing the conclusion of Ragnarok, but it's not as important as this.

Boyscout keeps his face pressed to my ribcage, "I'm nobody, Hellboy. Why do they keep saying that I'm going to change everything?"

"I… I don't know," I say only because I don't want to tell him anything else. These prophecies have changed since the first time I heard them, but Freya's little display is the first time I've seen what that prophecy can mean. I throw out, "Happens to me all the time," with a laugh in the hopes of lightening 'Scout's mood, but it doesn't seem to help either of us.

The images of New York burn in my head. John really would be the only person who could stop me if I… If I turned back into Him. I'm beginning to wonder if Michael recreated John with that purpose in mind. I'm going to change this fucking fate everyone keeps hanging over my head. No way am I going to make John stand between me and the people I've sworn to protect. It shouldn't be his burden.

Freya turns away from Odin's rant and walks over to us, her eyes fixing on John. I straighten up a little, mentally screaming that she'd better not show him the same thing she showed me. 'Scout would probably freak out and he's already halfway there, so he definitely doesn't need that right now. "You really ought to know how to fly," she half coos at him, brushing the bangs off his forehead.

Before I can stop it, a defensive growl rolls out of my chest. Freya and John both give me a look for it and I raise a brow in return. I'm not apologizing for that, they're just going to have to deal with it. "What?" I grumble, gripping 'Scout tighter.

Boyscout rolls his eyes. Yeah, I probably don't have any right to act defensive after what I did downstairs, but I've got to fix that somehow. I'm not unfaithful and I don't want 'Scout to start doubting me. His faith in me should never have to waiver.

"You need to learn how to fly, especially if you're going to face the ranks of angels. Being on the ground is almost a death sentence," Freya completely ignores my little possessive display and looks back at John. She doesn't take her hand away from his forehead, her thumb moving across his skin rhythmically. 'Scout's not any keener on her actions than I am. Subtly, he shifts back against me to try and get away from the touch, but she keeps her hand on him.

"Yeah, I get that," 'Scout drawls out, the annoyance barely hidden in his tone. "But I don't know what you expect me to do in the amount of time we-" his words melt into an uncertain gasp and his legs give out.

My arm compulsively tightens around him before he drops too far. "'Scout?" Freya's eyes are a deeper green than they were a second ago. Oh shit. Her thumb keeps moving over his skin and his eyes roll back so far in his head that I can't see anything but the whites. "What the fuck are you doin' to him?" I growl.

She doesn't acknowledge me beyond whispering, "Don't move him."

Suddenly, the snow kicks up full force, slamming into the three of us. Odin's voice screams with the wind, "You are not to tamper with the Norn's design! Leave him, Freya!" All of the Valkyries have scattered and now Odin is coming towards us at a pace that definitely not a friendly saunter.

Freya brings her other hand up to the side of John's head, "I change nothing that the angels haven't already tampered with."

"Freya!"

I raise my stone hand as he charges up, half-afraid that Odin is going to attack her. He stops short because she pulls away. There's a second or two where we all just stand around staring at each other and then John opens his eyes.

"Red…"

I turn my eyes away from Odin's furious expression and focus on John's blissed-out face. He looks completely mellow, content almost, like he just got finished having a massage or is coming down off a high or something. Not that I know anything about people coming down off of highs, but it seems like a fitting expression. A smile spreads on his face that reminds me of the days where we sprawl out on the couch with him tucked against my side and watch bad TV together.

"You all right?"

The smile gets a bit wider and he says, "I know how to fly." It flares into a full-blown grin that's quickly becoming contagious. I feel it pulling at the corners of my mouth too. "I know how to fly!"

Odin yanks Freya to him by her arm, snarling at her, "This is not the way of things! You do not just tamper with the threads of fate. If you cut too many lines, everything could collapse."

"Hey, lay off her," I snap at him. "She's just trying to help."

He shoves a finger against my chest, "Stay out of this."

At least he didn't call me hell spawn this time, but it still pisses me off. What the fuck happened to 'you earned my respect'? "No, I'm rooted so far in this that I'm part of the fucking tree. Now leave her alone." I feel another fight brewing, or maybe I'm itching for one… I'm not really sure.

My side is cold.

John is gone. I whip around to see where he's gotten to and see him standing at the edge of the cliff, his wings held wide. "John?"

He leaps off the edge and drops out of sight. My stomach drops with him. I'm not convinced that Freya can just teach him how to fly by pushing it into his brain. I whisper sharply, "Come on, come on," wanting him to come back where I can see him. I grit my teeth. "Come ON."

John shoots upward with howling laughter that warms me to my core, "This is awesome!" He goes from a climb to a spiral, doing a number of tricks that would make your average person airsick.

Odin stalks off into a whirlwind of snow and vanishes, but Freya pulls her hand to her chest and watches John fly. She's probably broken all kinds of rules to give this to Boyscout. From what I can gather, changing fate is not something that the Norse take lightly. Course, the only things they do seem to take lightly are drinking and arm wrestling and those are both done in freakish abundance.

'Scout swoops down close enough that I could touch him, pumping his wings hard to hover in place. "Not bad for my first day, eh?"

I snag his shirt and pull him closer, "C'mere, you show off." My lips barely ghost across his before he's off again, putting his wings to the test.


	8. Broken

- HB

I can't really tell whether Odin is pissed at us or at Freya, but either way he's been completely silent since we left Valhalla. When I finally got John to come back to the ground (where the hell did that fear of heights go?), we were ushered into a room where we both slept like the dead. One of the Valkyries got us in the morning and Odin shuttled us to a much, much warmer location. I can only assume it's Greece, since that's where we were supposed to be going.

All around us are rows of the squat little trees almost as far as I can see, but we're not exactly in an area where you can see for miles. The rolling hills keep the view limited to maybe a thousand yards or so. The land itself is rugged, rocky almost. Doesn't seem like it would grow much of anything, but that shows how much I know about farming. Zip. My knowledge ends at 'if you put a seed in the ground and give it some water, it's supposed to grow'. What can I say, my thumbs are red…

I shrug out of my coat and toss it over my shoulder. In the corner of my vision, I catch 'Scout fold his jacket over his arm. This whole going from one weather extreme to another in a matter of moments is kind of jarring. Odin doesn't seem to notice the difference. Still dressed in every fur known to man, he stomps off down the row we're standing in. We follow.

John peers at the trees as we go by, stopping once to touch whatever fruit is growing on them. He jogs to catch up with our hurried pace. "Olives," he says as he tosses one at me.

I catch it with my left hand and stick it in my mouth. No idea whether it's actually ready to eat or not, but it tastes good to me. We reach the crest of a hill and the rest of the farm comes into view. The rows of trees go a few more feet and dead-end against a low stone fence. Beyond the fence is a very large, traditional looking Grecian house with white stucco and rounded archways. It's backed up against the sea and surrounded by tall, pointed trees and colorful flowers.

I barely catch John mutter something about how beautiful it is and I have to agree. Standing at the top of the ridge with the warm ocean breeze in my face and a view like a postcard, I'd say this place is more than beautiful. If I could go on vacation, I'd go somewhere like this. "Yeah," I mutter back, sure he didn't need an answer but wanting to give one anyway.

"Stop gawking. It's just a house," Odin snaps from where he must've realized he'd lost us. He's already at the fence, one leg thrown over it. When we start moving again, he tosses the other leg over and heads up a pavestone path towards the massive patio.

"He seem grumpy to you?" I lean close to 'Scout to ask.

His laugh comes out as a snort when he tries to stop it, "No, not at all."

"Maybe he's just pissed that we like Greece better than Norway."

John snickers again, hiding a smile underneath his hand. His behavior is relieving. I don't like to fight with John. I don't think any couple likes to fight, but once he reaches a point where he can laugh at my stupid jokes, I know that the fight is over and forgotten.

As we reach the fence, a woman comes out of the house. She looks pissed. Her dark brown hair is pulled back into a loose, sloppy bun that looks like she just woke up from a nap. The spear she's holding says otherwise. If I had to guess, I'd say that she yanked her hair back to keep it out of her way during whatever fight was coming.

"You," she snarls at Odin, hoisting the spear into throwing position. "You have more courage than sense showing your face here."

Odin doesn't flinch at the threat. "Still holding on to your ridiculous grudge, Athena?"

Her scream bounces off the surrounding hills as she chunks the weapon at him. It flies like a fucking bullet, but Odin sidesteps it easily. Do all of the old gods have bad blood between them? Anubis said there were a lot of places he couldn't go, Athena and Odin seem to have a feud going on, the Mayan gods cut out other gods' hearts… And I thought people were aggressive. Gods bring aggression to a whole new level.

I put my left palm flat against 'Scout's chest just in case he feels like he needs to get involved in this argument. He stays put, watching the gods with wide eyes.

"It was just a few war heroes. It's not as though you were going to do anything with them. You throw all of your dead in the same damn pit," Odin roars back as he launches himself at her.

In a flash of light, Athena summons an amazingly large shield between her hands and slams it into Odin's side. She stretches out her right hand and another spear forms in it. It's strange to watch, almost like when you're looking up at the sun and an object becomes visible the longer you stare. Except the sunlight is in her hand.

"You took Achilles! He was my most beloved warrior and you know it!"

Odin catches the spear as she thrusts it at him, but Athena twists it out of his grasp and checks his jaw with the shaft. He stumbles a little, rubbing at his mouth, "Was that his name? I couldn't tell. All of your warriors look the same once they don that ridiculous armor."

With a furious cry, she slams the shield into him again, forcing him back a few steps. Athena is one seriously tough broad. Odin is at least a foot and a half taller than she is, and I can't even judge how many pounds he has on her, but she's smacking him around like he's a school kid. Even though I can tell that Odin is holding back, I think that if this turned into a full-fledged fight to the death, she'd be more than a challenge for him.

Odin grabs the shield and slings it out of her hands and across the yard, "I'm not here for this stupid fight. The gates are in peril."

"I know the gates are in peril, Anubis has already spoken with me. We're making plans now," she snaps and straightens up, adjusting her blouse, which had come open a little in the scuffle.

That shuts Odin up. They have this completely awkward moment where he clears his throat and makes a few noises like he wants to say something while she smooths her hair back and looks around uncertainly. Odin is the first one to get his wits back together. "Then I'll leave you with these two," he motions back at us with one meaty hand. "They're here to help."

Her eyes follow the motion and 'Scout waves a little, possibly because he can't think of another way to react. "Yes, Anubis said we should be expecting a few more," she says loud enough that we can hear. "Come inside."

Athena turns on her heel, slapping Odin in the face with her hair, and marches into the house. 'Scout and I trail after her and I give Odin a questioning look as I pass him. He doesn't seem like he's going to come with us. I pause, waving 'Scout on.

"You comin'?" I ask.

Odin's still staring past me, towards the house. "No," he finally sighs and turns his good eye to me. In the warmer Grecian sun, his iris looks almost white. "I would hamper things more than I would help. Athena is a brilliant strategist; she'll know what to do."

Adjusting his fur cloak higher on his shoulders, Odin turns to go. Before he gets too far, he aims that eye at me one more time, "Keep your lover safe. He is instrumental in the survival of humanity."

I glance over my shoulder to make sure John really did go inside before I ask, "Because he's the only one who can stop me?"

He stares at me long enough that I start shifting my weight from one foot to the other. Instead of answering, he disappears into a cloud of snow that really shouldn't exist in this heat.

Yeah… that's what I thought. He's probably pissed that I know my own fate. Hopefully he doesn't go chew Freya out for showing me. Maybe because I know, I can stop it from happening. That seems like a better idea than letting things just play out.

I rub the back of my neck and walk towards the house. I've never been uncertain about my future before. I've always just assumed I could shove my through to the life I planned on living as opposed to just rolling over for this apocalypse bullshit. Now I'm not so sure I can avoid it. Even with all of this planning and work to keep Gabriel away from the gates, there's a good chance he'll get to one before we do. If that happens, we'll be waging a war unlike any other.

I try to shake the thought as I go inside, but it clings to me like a bad smell. The room I enter is large, with vaulted ceilings and dozens of windows facing the ocean. All of the furniture is white or wicker, most of it facing a low, round oak table at the center of the room.

John handles the decorations at home, but if I had a view like that, every stick of furniture in my house would be turned so I can look at it. The way this room is laid out, it reminds me of the conference room back at BPRD. All it's missing is a projector screen.

I'm surprised that Abe beat us here considering we had supernatural instant travel and he had a helicopter. Although, I guess we did leave the cargo plane in Norway… we should probably call them. Abe's bent over a collection of maps at the table, marking them up with a pen. My guess is that he's keeping track of gate locations and who we've alerted.

'Scout is sitting in the chair next to him. He's leaned so far forward that his as is barely touching the edge of the seat. His eyebrows arch slightly when he sees me come in. It's a silent question. I shake my head and he nods ever so slightly in understanding, not surprised that Odin decided to leave.

I look around for Anubis and spot him in the far corner of the room. He's in an overstuffed armchair, his feet tucked underneath him and his shoes lined up very neatly against the base of the chair. Not sure why he's so upset, but he's looking around the room like everything is covered in bugs or shit or something, like it's all disgusting. I don't have to wonder too long because the moment Athena comes back from the kitchen with a few bottles of beer, Anubis starts griping.

"You're house is far too elaborate. We're not meant to draw attention to ourselves."

I catch Athena roll her eyes as she flicks the lids off the beer with one thumbnail. Each beer hisses and foams up a little, one spilling over onto the tile floor which she doesn't acknowledge. She hands one to 'Scout, gets politely declined by Abe, and holds one out to me. The label is in German, a language I actually know. It's a really good imported brand, Krombacher. I take it with my left hand with a smirk.

"Take a seat, Hellboy," Athena says curtly, motioning at the couch.

My tail curls slightly as I wonder how sturdy the couch is. Some furniture just buckles underneath me and her stuff looks really expensive. "Uh, I'll stand."

"Suit yourself," she responds, taking a sip out of the beer Abe didn't want.

In a split second, she goes from casual host to war room leader. If I hadn't seen her fight with Odin, it might've been a bit jarring. A deadly serious expression slides into place as she sets down her beer and starts talking through things, "We know that the Christian gate is no longer an option for Gabriel so he'll have to enter enemy territory to finish his plans. Tell me who has been contacted."

Abe continues to scribble on the map but he's never had a problem multi-tasking, "I had a truly enlightening experience with Shiva and his consort, Devi. Their gate is actually within Shiva's third eye and cannot be opened with the key Gabriel is wielding."

"Well, there's no way he's getting to Odin's gate, since it's inside a giant wolf," 'Scout says as he sits back in the chair, throwing his arms over the curved backrest. "Plus they're watching for Gabriel now."

Athena glares at Anubis and after a second or two, he growls and gets up to join us. Leaping over the arm of the couch, Anubis settles into nearly the same position he was in on the other chair. "Okay, I've covered a lot of bases. I dropped in on the Mayans-"

"Clearly you escaped with your heart intact this time," Athena says slyly, sipping her beer.

Anubis curls his lip and his human image fades enough that his sharp teeth are exposed in a flash. I doubt it was an accident. "Yes, I made it out intact. The Mayans are prepared to fend off the archangels, so are the Aborigines, and the Shinto Spirits. I was going to head out to America next to see if I could hunt down the Sky Lords."

"Good luck. They've been in hiding for centuries."

"But I know that they're gate is on the north-east coast. All of their prophets say that the evil will come from the east. If I find the gate, more than likely they'll come to me."

My stomach turns over. I know where the gate is, I saw it in the vision Freya pushed into my skull. Knowing I'll have to explain why I'm privy to the location, I clear my throat, "It's in the bowels of New York City, deeper than any of the subways go."

All the eyes of the room stick on me like I've randomly grown another appendage. Before anyone can start shooting questions in my direction, I add, "I spend a lot of time down there."

Abe's on to me instantly, but he's got that whole psychic thing going for him. Weirdly, he doesn't rat me out. Well, it's not that weird… He wouldn't have to pry very hard to figure out why I want to hide it from everyone and Abe's really loyal. He's been my friend the longest, so I can only hope that I can trust him not to say anything. Just in case though, I think really hard about what kind of bad shit might happen to him if he does tell.

Thing is, the wheels in John's head are turnin'. He got to see every memory of my life like he was watchin' it home-movie-style via his wolf, so I'd bet he's dredging through those memories to figure out when I encountered a hell gate in the Big Apple. He and I will start playing hardball when he comes up empty.

Athena opens her mouth but the cell phone on the table starts ringing. She snatches it up, glares at the faceplate, and flips it open, yelling in the receiver, "I left a message specifically asking for him to call me, not his secretary, but HIM!" She pauses, listening to whatever poor bastard is on the other end. "I don't care what he's doing! Tell him to put on his fucking pants and get over here." Slamming both the phone and her beer on the table, Athena makes an annoyed, exasperated sound that I'm pretty sure only a woman is capable of making.

The rest of us are quiet while she pulls her previous calm back over herself. With how pissed off she is, I actually think that she'd deck one of us if we said something right now. Considering the pants comment and the fact that she was probably trying to contact someone important about our current apocalypse-like issues, my guess is that she was trying to get a hold of Zeus. I remember those stories well enough to know that he sleeps with anything that has a convenient opening. It doesn't even have to have two legs, or be consenting really.

I drain my beer and set the bottle on a nearby table, settling it between a bowl full of seashells and a stack of _Modern Combat_ magazines. Interesting choice. The one on top features some kind of new guidable missile that I wouldn't mind reading about. I slide the magazine around so I can flip through the first few pages, but Athena gets back on topic before I can get to the main article.

"Alright. What about your own gate, Anubis? Who is set to protect it?"

"No one, our gate is gone."

Athena flattens her palms on the table as she scrutinizes him. That look sucks. Liz used to give me that look when I exaggerated something or told her something that wasn't true, and that woman's instinct kicked in cause she knew I was lying. It didn't usually take me too long to break under that glare. "Would you care to exaggerate on that, or are we expected to be satisfied with an inter-dimensional gate just vanishing into thin air?" Her sarcasm is acidic.

Anubis's eyes narrow into slits and I catch a low growl roll out of him. He really is too easy to tick off, in a good way and a bad way. "Horus, Baal, and I destroyed the gate in the early nineteen hundreds. Egypt was a hotbed of exploration and we didn't want anyone stumbling across it. Would you like me to get in contact with my brother so he can confirm it for you? I'm sure he's not doing something more important like readying our troops for the imminent war with Heaven."

With a tight, icy smile, Athena straightens up, "No, that won't be necessary. All that leaves are the gods of the African wilds and Allah, who despises all of us. Any volunteers?"

I come over to stand behind 'Scout's chair, not so inadvertently brushing my fingers against his arm. "We've got a man in Africa now. He's talking to a demi-god rhinoceros we know."

Both Anubis and Athena give me strange looks. I know we told Anubis about the whole knowing a demi-god thing, so I've got no idea why he'd be confused, but I think Athena has earned it considered she's only known us a few minutes. Almost in tandem, they ask me extremely similar questions.

Hers is, "A rhinoceros demi-god?"

And he goes, "A rhino? Like on two legs?"

Even though I could've handled it, Abe stops fiddling with the maps long enough to explain, "We are not entirely sure of his origin, so 'demi-god' might not be correct, but he is a bipedal creature that resembles a cross between a man and a rhinoceros. He also has some extremely incredible powers over the earth."

"Maangamizo," Athena whispers almost fearfully.

Anubis pales considerably at the name and my tail starts doing some nervous twitching. What the hell do they know that I don't? "What? What's a magizmo?"

"Maangamizo," Abe corrects me quietly. "It means 'destruction' in Swahili. I believe Torque has a more complex background than we were aware of."

I feel 'Scout tense slightly underneath my fingertips as he defends our friend, "That can't be right. We've known Torque a very long time and he's only every done good things. He works like us, protecting people."

Anubis uncurls from the couch and gets up, "Maangamizo was destroyed a long time ago, along with his brothers. It can't be the same god."

"Destroyed how?" I ask, mostly because I'm getting this weird sinking feeling in my stomach. An old conversation comes to mind, one that happened when I was stuck in the back of a hummer heading into the Turkish mountains to find the Garden of Eden. Lazarus and Torque had talked about Torque's two brothers and how they weren't a picture of civility. I know at least one of them has attacked a major city… and they didn't seem to enthusiastic to tell me anything else.

"The gods came together in a mutual decision to kill them when they began to threaten the fledgling mankind. They were massively destructive and wild, unable to see the value of human life," Anubis explains, walking to the windows and back again, not really pacing, more like wandering as he talks. "They were created by the aftershocks of energy that formed the world you know, like most of the contents of hell. But they were different from all of the other dark entities that crawled out of the planet's shadows, they were too powerful to force through a gate."

"No, that can't be Torque," John raises his voice, cutting into anything else Anubis was going to say.

He's adamant enough that Athena nods and dismisses it, "Well, I think we need to discuss the inevitable idea that Gabriel will succeed. If he does, humanity will be swept from our earth as dust. We need to mount a counter-offensive just in case."

"I believe everyone I've spoken to will be preparing already and I know that Odin has been putting together his army for centuries."

Athena's phone rattles on the table and starts ringing again. She snatches it, waving a hand at us like we're just supposed to wait. "When I leave you an emergency message, it would be ideal if you stopped fucking your trollop of the day and phoned me back!" Athena practically screeches into the receiver.

Gotta' be talking to Zeus. Being a goddess of chastity, Athena can't be too happy about having the most notorious Casanova in history as a father. She's the only woman to ever enter the head that's above his waist, literally. The stories all say that she sprang out of his skull in battle gear. Not entirely sure how that works, but I've seen weirder shit than that.

She goes into the kitchen to talk to him, the fading conversation calming into an explanation of what all is going on. I hear a door close and then her half of the conversation is gone.

Anubis picks up her forgotten beer and drains it, commenting, "I suppose class is out for the day. I have to head to New York anyway." He glances at Abe, "You want a lift? It's probably time to check in with your man in charge."

I can only imagine that little interaction. How the hell are you supposed to tell someone that an angel is trying to start the apocalypse and you're working on gathering up a bunch of other gods to stop him? Seems like a hard sell, even for us. Leonitus's head will probably just explode. He's been around a while, but he's never experienced one of our world-ending, earth-shattering, life-changing battles with evil. He's seen a lot of creatures and demons, but nothing apocalyptic yet. I guess that's about to change.

"Actually, Athena asked me to stay to help her check on the Grecian gate. Since it is located beneath a lake, they do not have many people who can do the job. After I'm done with that, I will return to the Bureau," Abe answers simply.

Below me, 'Scout sighs, "I guess that leaves us with the god that hates everyone?"

"I guess."

He turns his head to stare out one of the windows and curls some of his hair around his index finger. Both hands drop into his lap as he asks, "How long have those people been out there?"

Everyone follows his line of sight. Huddled underneath one of the olive trees are a man and a woman, both obscured by the shadows of the tree. Even from here, I can tell that the woman has a VERY nice figure, but I try not to dwell on it. John and I just smoothed things over and I don't want to do anything stupid, like drooling.

"Maybe they work for Athena," Anubis offers without much conviction.

The pair seem to be having some kind of discussion. He's making some small hand gestures and she laughs at something. After a few moments, she walks out into the daylight and I swear I have no control over the bolt of lust that goes through me. Her looks don't stop at the figure. Her features are perfect, fucking perfect. Her tits are just the right size, her lips just big enough that they're enticing and not puffy-lookin', her hips swaying like a fucking pendulum as she walks… To top it all off, she's wearing this gauzy dress that lets me see just enough that I'm aching to see more.

Shit!

Being with 'Scout as long as I have, I've kinda forgotten how sexy a woman can be. But I'd never fuck up what I have with John to get a piece of any kind of ass, no matter how sexy it is.

"That's Aphrodite," Anubis's voice is suddenly real low in my ear.

I jump slightly, feeling guilty that I was staring hard enough that I didn't even notice him walk over. My glare is halfhearted. It doesn't even make him blink.

"Don't let your guard down around her or she'll take you for all that you're worth." The last half is almost growled, as if he knows exactly what that's like. Before I can say anything back, he disappears into the shadowy corners of a coat closet.

I nudge 'Scout with my flesh hand, "Come on, let's go."

"You left the plane in Norway," Abe mentions while meticulously rolling up the maps.

"Then we'll take a bus," I practically snarl.

There's something going on here that's just beneath the surface. It's making me really fucking agitated. The expression on Aphrodite's face is becoming clearer the closer she gets to the house and I just can't trust it. Hiding in those beautiful eyes is a darkness I know WAY too well. Anubis's cryptic comment is helping any either. I feel like shit will be hitting the fan full speed if we're not out of this house by the time she gets here.

'Scout's confused, "A bus?" reminds me that nobody else probably feels what I do. Abe is gleaning at least a little of it from me, but I can see confusion on the edges of his expression.

"It's a joke. We are wasting time though, so let's go," is probably the worst explanation ever, but I don't have anything better right now, just a gut feeling.

I pull John out of his chair and half-lead, half-drag him down a hall that I'm hoping goes to another entrance. We pass an alcove filled by a statue of a winged horse, go by a few doors and a stairwell before I finally spot a glass door that leads outside. 'Scout's gotten quiet, maybe drawing his cue from my mood. Or he realized that I haven't answered a single question he's thrown at me, so there's no use in asking anymore.

I yank open the door and haul 'Scout outside, stifling my sigh of relief. Now I really do have to figure out our transportation. We could use Abe's helicopter if we knew where it was parked. I didn't exactly bother asking him. I also have no idea how we're supposed to find Allah, or even if that's who we're supposed to see next.

My mind is fucking whirling. I haven't had such a strong reaction to a woman since 'Scout came along. As my heart rate slows, I start wondering if there was actually something wrong with Aphrodite or if I was just freaked out by the fact that my relationship fucking faded from my head when I saw that woman.

A warm hand touches my jaw and I jerk slightly with surprise. I look down into 'Scout's concerned gaze. "What's wrong? You kind of flipped out on me."

I can't tell him. I can't. Even if Aphrodite is supposed to be the epitome of sexiness, the fact that I wanted her… admitting that I wanted her would hurt him. "I'm fine. We just need to get out of here."

He's not convinced, but he nods and says, "Okay."

My heart swells a little at his reaction. He'll go along with me, even if he has no idea where I'm leading him or why… His trust makes me ache just as much as it makes me proud. I capture his lips with mine hard enough to bruise but don't get any complaint from John. He opens his mouth and winds his arms around my neck, giving me better access. I pull away before I can get lost in him. When I turn, Aphrodite is barely an arm's length away. Her perfect lips quirk up a little at the edges as we both jump.

"Well hello," she purrs, a full-blown smile taking over for her smirk. "I don't believe we've become acquainted."

When I can't do anything but stare, John steps towards her and holds out his hand, "Hi, I'm John Myers and this is Hellboy. You must be one of the other Greek gods."

Aphrodite takes his hand delicately and bats her eyes at me, "It is a pleasure to meet you both. You must be the ones Athena told me about."

My chest contracts at her hooded gaze, making it hard to breath. There's something familiar about this sensation, but it's not a good kind of familiarity. It's more like a sinking feeling that something really bad accompanies this sensation.

She withdraws from 'Scout and comes over to me, trailing one hand across my chest. Her touch makes my skin burn and tingle with pleasure. John's concerned expression is killing me, but I can't stop what's happening. All I can do is make a content rumbling noise and lean in closer to Aphrodite. The scent of her fills my nose, delicate and intoxicating. My demonic side howls that I should throw her down here and now.

Her breath whispers across my mouth and then I'm kissing her. It's not just a kiss. Our tongues are fucking, her taste making me insane. She's a drug. I can feel her touch thrumming in my blood like liquid fire. I pull hard at her tiny waist, practically crushing her smaller form against me. She makes a noise that's almost a whimper as I slide my flesh hand up to her breasts.

The tiny shred of sanity I have left starts dissecting the smell and the taste and the feel of her. An answer swims through all of the lust and need. My head clears as I realize that I have encountered this before, when I fought a succubus. This is seduction fueled by very powerful magic. It's not me giving in to desire, it's desire fabricated by one of the most basic and potent kinds of power.

I turn my hand on her chest and push her hard enough to knock her on her ass. Stumbling back a few steps, I lean against the building and try to work out the sexual influence she's pumped into me. Anger replaces it as I glower at her, at the wicked smile she's sporting.

Oh god… John.

I sit up and whip my head around to scour the area for him, "John?"

Aphrodite starts laughing then and I realize that I've been played like a fucking fiddle. John is nowhere in sight.


	9. Seduction

- John

I can't wrap my head around what just happened. One moment HB was kissing me and the next he was sucking some girl's face off. And it wasn't just an accidental kiss, he leaned in with intent. I had to walk away before I killed both of them. It feels as if someone has ripped out my insides and set them on fire. Underneath all of my anger is a kind of sorrow I've never felt before. The thought that I'm not enough for him is eating me alive.

I quickly make my way around the house, wanting to be as far away from the two of them as I can get. My eyes start to sting and I push the heels of my hands into them to keep any tears at bay. I keep stumbling forward even though I can barely see where I'm going. Vaguely, I realize that the sound of the ocean is getting louder and the ground under my feet is becoming rocky and uneven.

I scrub my sleeve across my face and look around. To the left, the beach smooths out to a flat shoreline that runs parallel to the olive orchard. On the right, several short cliffs rise up against the surf, a few feet of rugged shore getting washed by the low tide. I head to the right, knowing it'll be harder to find me. I need to be alone.

The rocks are slimy with algae and I don't have the focus to maneuver them as agilely as I should. My sneaker slides off one of the stones and my skin crashes into the edge as I fall. Pain explodes across my vision in a series of bright white dots. I grit my teeth against my scream and keep moving. Bracing my hand against the cliff for support, I continue to pick my way over the craggy coastline.

Hellboy's actions play in my mind again and again as I try to figure out what would make him do that. Was he just that starved for the touch of a woman? Am I not satisfying anymore? I thought everything was fine… I don't understand what changed.

When I'm out of sight of the house, I collapse onto the largest rock I can find. Water soaks into the back of my jeans, but I really don't give a damn. The rhythmic sound of the surf against the stones is calming. My fury ebbs slowly but nothing replaces it. I'm empty. Hollow. I stare out at the water and wrap my arms across my chest, pushing at the sudden swell of nausea gripping my stomach.

My life has been interwoven with his for so long that I genuinely don't know what I'll do if he leaves. It makes me feel pathetic. I lived alone until I met Red, so why is the idea of being alone now so terrifying?

I draw my knees up to my chest as a swell of water threatens to soak my shoes. Curled in the fetal position, I feel even more pathetic, so I drop my feet as soon as the wave is gone.

"Was he human or demon?"

My head snaps up, adrenaline shooting through my veins. The armor responds to me, spreading across my back, but not extending fully. It's almost as if it wants to remind me that it's there.

The man who spoke is six or seven feet from me, standing knee deep in water. His loose black pants are rolled up just past that, but they've still gotten wet. He doesn't seem all that threatening. He's slim with hair that spills over his shoulders like India ink. It's his face that's the most disarming. A warm, but sad smile dominates his delicate features.

"What?" I croak before I realize how choked up I am from crying. I clear my throat and ask again.

"I know that expression. Someone broke your heart," he practically croons at me. "And since angels only take one partner, you must've taken either a human or a demon."

Tears brim along the edges of my eyes and I blink furiously to disperse them. "Demon," I admit in a broken voice.

His quiet, "Oh," is heavy with remorse and understanding. He wades through the surf and settles onto a smooth green stone next to me. We stare at the ocean together. I still have no idea who he is, but his presence is strangely comforting, like he's someone I've known forever.

He's clearly not human. His facial structure is slightly off, his cheekbones are high, his nose is narrow and tapered in a way that plastic surgeons can only dream of replicating properly, and his jaw is just square enough that it keeps him from being confused for a woman. Unearthly really is the best word for it.

"A demon trying to be monogamous is like a fish trying to fly. They're just not made for it," he says, the sad smile coming back to his face. "But we still fall for them anyway."

"You sound like you speak from experience."

His eyes meet mine and I find myself drowning in them. The old pain in his voice is hard to miss, "We try to learn from past mistakes, but it doesn't mean we don't fall for them. I fell more literally than most… and then he left me." He reaches back between his shoulders, beneath his shirt, and produces a short, black feather.

As he spins the feather between two fingers, it dawns on me exactly what he's trying to tell me. "You left Heaven for him?"

He drops the feather into the water and the tide takes it away. "It wasn't the most misguided thing I've ever done, but it comes close."

"I'm sorry."

His laugh is soft and pleasant, "You have nothing to apologize for. I'm the one here trying to console you."

"I'm still sorry," I say again, staring down at the small organisms clutching the sides of the rocks. They're all closed up at low tide, just waiting for the water to come rushing back in so they can continue their lives.

A gentle hand brushes my shoulder and I raise my head. "It was centuries ago," he tells me.

Shouts echo down to us from the house. I can't tell what he's shouting, but I know its Red's voice. He might be looking for me, or he might be screwing the brunette, either way, I'm not going back up there. As the shouts get louder, I get up and start picking my way farther down the beach. The fallen angel walks in the ocean beside me.

"I'm John Myers, by the way," I offer him my hand even though it jeopardizes my footing.

He shakes it, but my shoes slide in the algae before he lets go. I stumble forward and a sharp tug on my hand changes my course. Instead of smacking into the rocks, I fall against the angel. My feet splash into the water and my jeans get heavy as they soak up as much liquid as they can.

"Sorry," I mumble, my face flushing as I regain my balance.

He doesn't release me immediately. Instead, he gives my waist a small squeeze and answers right against my ear, "I'm Saeriel."

Despite myself, his voice sends a thrill through me. Blushing profusely, I pull away from him and keep walking. What the hell is wrong with me? I feel like a hormonal teenager.

"So, are we running from said lover?"

"Not running, per say." The skeptical look he casts at me makes me revise my statement, "Alright, yes. I just can't face him right now."

Saeriel takes my arm and leads me towards the cliffs, "They'll find us out here eventually. Come on."

Before I can really argue or even question him, he waves his hand across the cliff and a portal of some kind opens on the rocks. Beyond it is a beautiful, lush room. Instinct makes me resist. I don't know where this place is, and frankly, I don't know anything about this fallen angel. I shift my weight back a little and plant my feet. He stops partway through the doorway, his hand still firmly wrapped around my arm, and glances back with his brows knit together.

"Something wrong?"

"Where are you taking me?"

His fingers unwind from my bicep and that disarming smile slips back onto his face, "Forgive my horrible manners. I was thinking we could hide from them at my house. This is just the fastest way to get there."

I don't budge, uncertainty warring with my desire to trust him.

"I live in another part of Greece, not far from here. If you want to walk…" he trails off, gesturing in a northwesterly direction.

Above us, Red's voice calls my name. He sounds angry. Heaven forbid I wander off while he's making out with someone else. My decision is easy after that. I walk through the portal after Saeriel.

The room we enter is much darker than it was outside and I have to wait for my eyes to adjust to the gloom. Seems like it should be a lot brighter, but I don't see any windows. The walls are covered with heavy, red velvet curtains that look like they belong in the Elizabethan era. If there were windows hiding beneath all that fabric, I doubt any light would get through.

On the opposite end of the room, there's a bed that could easily hold six people comfortably. The mounds of pillows make my inner child want to leap onto them. I resist the urge. Closer to us, there's a cluster of two large chairs next to bookshelf that goes to the ceiling. The double doors leading out into the rest of the house are big enough to drive an SUV through. I wonder what he does for a living, because there's no way he could have a house this nice working for Athena.

Saeriel goes over to a cabinet and grabs a bottle of wine and two glasses, "Do you prefer wine or something stronger?"

"Wine is okay," I answer while I keep surveying my surroundings. Everywhere I look there are signs of wealth. Elaborate and beautiful paintings of birds adorn several walls and the light fixture hanging from the ceiling is handcrafted metal. The rug on the floor looks like it's worth more than my house.

I take the glass he offers me and sit down in one of the chairs. "Will I get a tour of the rest of your house later?"

"If you want, but I have to tell you that the rest of the house is rather disappointing. I spend all my time in here, so this is all I bothered to spruce up."

I make a noncommittal noise in response, sipping at the wine. It's very good, full bodied and fruity. A take another, deeper sip. The second one rushes to my head, making me a little dizzy. "Strong wine," comes out more breathy than I'd intended.

He smiles around his glass before taking another drink, "Do you want something else?"

"No, it's fine."

Swirling his drink slowly, Saeriel switches gears on me, offering, "I could help you find a new partner, one who would be loyal to you."

My brow creases involuntarily. The idea bothers me more than I'd like to admit. I don't want to start thinking about moving on from Hellboy, since we only just had a falling out. Part of me wants to fix what's broken, but the other part warns against it. I've had cheating boyfriends before… they always say it will never happen again but inevitably I come home early and they're sprawled out on our bed or couch or counter with some other guy.

"No," I finally mutter, knowing he's waiting for an answer. "I'm not even close to being ready for that." The tail end of my statement comes out slurred. I glance down and realize that my glass is almost empty. I can't remember drinking it.

Setting his glass aside, Saeriel gets up and glides over to me in a way that almost seems predatory. His face exudes empathy and understanding, but his movements scream that he's hunting me. The wine is making everything fuzzy and muddled. I know I should be concerned about this change in him, but I can't seem to call up anything but contentment.

His hands slide down onto my shoulders, rubbing firmly, "To trust a demon more than once is folly. He'll only end up breaking your heart over and over until you learn to stop going back. I know it's hard for you, but take it from someone who has experience: he'll just hurt you." As he talks, his hands descend on my pectorals. He works the tight muscle in small circles, digging his fingers into the knots I've acquired in the last few days.

I make an unintelligible sound and the wine glass slips from my slack hand. It hits the carpet with a muffled 'thump'. I don't think it breaks.

"Lean forward," is whispered against my earlobe just before the tip of Saeriel's tongue slides over it.

A shudder rips through me and I do as he asks. His hands go to work on my back, kneading and working my tension out. He very carefully dances around the disk between my shoulder blades. My last shred of reason tries to tell me that he knows the armor is there and that means something, I just can't figure out what it means. My body is getting so heavy. I can hardly stay upright. Pleasure crashes over me in waves and my eyelids flutter closed. I focus on his hands, on the feeling of him stripping every ounce of anxiety out of me.

Something softer presses to the skin on the back of my neck, lips I think. He kisses my neck, my shoulder, my spine. He's not kissing me through cloth anymore. My mind strains to figure out when he took my shirt off.

Very quietly, Saeriel asks, "Do you think you could be happy with someone like me?"

I don't answer. I can't answer. I still feel the faint ache in my chest that Hellboy left and there's no way I can make a decision like that when his betrayal is still hovering over me. Saeriel's fingers stop massaging and just slide across my back delicately. He traces the line of my spine, starting at the middle of my back and moving up. The touch pauses at the disk and slides around it. And then the weight of the disk is gone.

My eyes snap open and I turn around in the chair. Saeriel's features twist into a wicked smile that sends a chill through me. It's nothing like the benevolence he radiated before, it's more like the kind of expression you see on a serial killer that just got his way. He flips the disk between his palms just before smashing me across the head with it. White-hot pain slams through my skull and then everything gets dark.

- HB

"I am sure he is around, Red, you just need to look for him and try to explain things. Athena has already informed me that we are not going back because of John."

It's really, really hard not to snap the satellite phone in half. Blue is being too fucking analytical. I need him to be my concerned fucking friend! The sooner I can find John, the sooner I can explain that I was being played and I would never do something like that on my own. Especially not sober. But I can't find John if I don't get some fucking support!

"He's upset, Blue. He doesn't want to see me right now, so I need you to come back here and help me."

"He has every right to be upset. Give him a little time," Blue's voice is too calm, too level. It's the way he always is, but right now it's pissing me off.

I pull the phone away from my ear and shout into the receiver, "What fucking time do we have? Were you paying any attention in that meeting? The world could be ending."

There's a pause on the other end and Blue comes back on with his same level of calm, "If you do not give John some time, any kind of reconciliation you attempt will fall on deaf ears."

I heave a sigh and mutter, "Yeah, thanks," before hanging up on him.

Even if it wasn't my fault, I can't honestly say that I've ever fucked up this bad before. John is usually pretty calm, but if something rubs him the wrong way, he can shut down to the point that he won't even listen. I hate to admit it, but it's something he picked up from me when he was a wolf. I don't think he was ever so stubborn before we slept together.

From the lounger she's perched on, Aphrodite chuckles and gloats, "I've seduced a lot of men, but you had to be one of the easiest. How bad is your sex life?"

I don't know why she hasn't left, but she is REALLY testing my patience. Hitting women is something I avoid (especially woman that aren't large, flesh-eating monsters). I might end up breaking that rule if she doesn't shut the fuck up.

I point my stone finger at her and growl, "Do you just go out of your way to fuck up good relationships?"

"If I can 'fuck things up', as you so eloquently put it, then the relationship wasn't good to begin with," she says nonchalantly while she examines her nails. I hope I broke one when I shoved her.

"Our relationship is FINE!"

"He doesn't trust you."

I freeze at that. Even my tail gets still and it's been thrashing nonstop since all of this started. "How the hell can you know that?"

She flashes her teeth at me in what I think it supposed to be a smile, saying, "I'm the goddess of love, darling. If I can't tell what's going on in someone's relationship, then I'm not doing my job."

"Isn't the goddess of love supposed to bring people together?"

"Not when their relationship is too broken to fix. Trust me, I was doing you a favor."

"I don't believe you," I spit.

My instincts are going nuts. Something very bad is going on, and Aphrodite is an instigator. I'm just not sure how I should get the information from her. Most of my interrogations involve bludgeoning or threats of bludgeoning. I have to get something from her though.

I move towards her quickly, reaching to grab her arm as I snarl, "Tell me where John is." The moment I touch her, she vanishes. Can every fucking god move around like physics don't exist? Rage floods through me and I slam my stone hand into the deck. The wood splinters with a crack loud enough to echo in the fields. The rest of the patio groans under my feet, threatening to give way. I don't move; just stay leaned over the shattered mess of wood.

Freya's shared visions come rushing to my head. The one that sticks is me standing over the ruins of New York, the voices of millions of people rising up from the fire and carnage. I need John, and not just because he keeps me sane. No, I don't just need him to keep me from becoming Anung un Rama. I need him because he fills a void in me that no one else could fill. I need him because I love him.

I have to find him.

As I lift my head, I come eye to eye with a trio of dogs. They're massive and jet-black and… wait. It isn't three dogs, its one dog with three heads. All three heads growl in tandem, their black lips pulling back from very sharp-lookin' yellow teeth.

"Make my day you ugly fuck," I growl back, curling my stone hand into a fist.

Two bare feet step beside the dog and the wood underneath them starts growing. Moss springs up all along the surface, vines and flowers sprouting up around and between the toes of the human feet as well as the dog's. I let my gaze travel up the bare leg, past a billowy green skirt and top, to the woman's face. She regards me like running across a massive demon is an everyday occurrence.

"Are you companion to a brown-haired angel?" she asks me in a voice that's a weird mix between sweet and dead.

I scramble to my feet, startling the dog in the process. The three heads snap at me. None of them actually bite me, but the sharp click of their teeth makes me yank my flesh hand out of reach. "John? Yeah, you saw him?"

She nods, her face completely blank. She reminds me of a puppet, like there's nobody home but somebody's helping her do the walking and the talking. I wonder vaguely if the dog is responsible, but I'm pretty sure he's a guardian of some kind. Cerberus always protected the gates of the underworld and he bears a pretty striking resemblance. The only difference is that this mutt has a bobbed tail and it was always rumored that Cerberus's tail was a snake.

"Your companion is in danger. We must go to him now."

"How the hell?" Of course he's in danger, he's been out of my sight for more than a half an hour. 'Scout is a fucking magnet for trouble. "Will you take me? Please?"

She turns and steps off the porch. The direction she came from is covered in tall, green grass that comes up to my waist. Speckled in the grass are a huge variety of flowers. I kinda' feel bad stepping on them, but I guess she makes them wherever she goes. Her pace is a lot brisker than I would've given her credit for, I actually have to power walk to keep up with her. The dog runs ahead, two of the heads down close to the dirt like he's following a trail and the other pointed straight forward. I guess he's the lookout.

I ask, "What's your name," even though I'm not expecting much of an answer. Considering how devoid of emotion this chick is, she could be part of a trap, but I'll barrel into it if it means finding John. Besides, very few traps can hold me.

As we walk, the grass starts getting taller. It grows rapidly, coming up to my chest and then my shoulders. I can barely see the dog anymore.

"I'm Persephone."

Wait, I know that one. "You're married to Hades. Daughter of Demeter, the goddess of the harvest."

Persephone slows and turns those very empty eyes onto me, "I would prefer if we didn't talk about my late husband."

"Fair enough."

The grass finally envelops our heads and I realize that it's not actually grass, it's wheat. Once it's as tall as I am, it shifts from green to gold. As Persephone moves, the wheat parts for her, but I have to beat it back with my hands.

When I start to lose sight of her, I break our silence, "Hey, where are we going?"

I don't hear anything in response. Another few seconds of literally wading through the weeds and I do lose track of her. I keep moving forward, hoping I'll spot her. "Hey! Persephone?"

I finally break out of the wheat to find that I'm in a really different part of Greece. There are walls of rock on either side of me, tall enough that they block out the sun. I think I'm in a mountain range maybe. A dozen yards ahead of me, Persephone is standing beside a narrow crack in the rock face. It's wide enough for her to walk into, but I'm going to have to turn sideways if we're going in there.

"Would you people please start warning me when you're going to transport me somewhere new?" I gripe, partially at her, partially because I just want to bitch.

"I'm sorry. I was under the impression that we were in a hurry to get to your friend before Lucifer has his way with him."

That catches my attention. "WHAT? Why the hell didn't you mention that earlier?"

I don't wait for her. I plunge into the tiny crevice head first, scraping my tail and elbows along the edges of the wall in my hurry. Pretty sure I'm not bleeding, so I'm not stopping. I'm extremely grateful when the tunnel widens and I can take it at a sprint. The farther I get from the entrance, the darker it gets. I'm beginning to wonder if I really did just fall for a fucking trap when I spot a torch. It marks the beginning of a spiraling set of stairs.

Taking the stairs two at a time should've gotten me down pretty quickly, but the stairs just keep going. I feel like I'm descending for ten, twenty, maybe thirty minutes. Every two dozen steps, there's another torch to light the way. I'm going fast enough that the sharp curve of the stairwell is starting to make me dizzy. I stop for a moment, bracing my hands on my knees as I peer down the staircase. It goes on for fuckin' ever.

Behind me, a loud clicking, panting noise is gaining strength. The three-headed dog comes barreling around the corner. He shoves past me, nearly knocking me over, and continues down the endless staircase.

"What are you, a marathon runner?" I shout after him.

A few deep breaths later, and I'm hot on his tail. I was closer to the end than I thought. We reach a landing within another minute. I yank my gun out of the holster as I hit the ground, looking around for something to shoot at.

I'm not sure what Hell is supposed to look like, but the room we've come into looks like a woman's bedroom. There are sprigs of dried flowers hanging upside down on the walls, practically covering every available surface. The only place where there aren't dried flowers is the space above the bed. That has a portrait of an extremely pale couple. The woman is Persephone, so the man must be Hades. They're standing on a boat with a skeleton… Not really a traditional family photo.

Even though I was running the entire way down, Persephone emerges only seconds later at a casual saunter. She extends one arm to point at the door to the bedroom. I go to it.

"You will take a right and go down to the end of the hall. The most elaborate door you see will be his," Persephone tells me.

"Thank you."

For the first time since I met her, her eyes flare to life. The one emotion there is hatred. "The only thanks I require is Lucifer's head on a pike. Kill him, son of the Witch King."

For a half a second, I hesitate. It's the prophecy the Banshee was shouting about. If I attack Lucifer, one of us is going to die and I have no intention of letting it be me. If I don't attack him, I lose 'Scout. No way is that going to happen.

I yank open the door and run down the hall. Her directions are perfect. At the end of the lengthy hallway, there's a pair of double doors that looks like they're carved from a single tree. I slam my stone fist into the center of the lock and it gives way with a powerful crack.

A tiny man with dark hair looks up at me as I come barging in. He regards me coolly, swirling some wine around in the glass he's holding. John is on the floor near his feet. His hair is dark and matted with blood and the armor is missing from his back. It only takes me a second to realize that the man is holding the disk in his other hand.

"I honestly wasn't expecting to see you, Anung un Rama, especially not this early in the game," he says with a smirk that I'm dying to punch off his face.

I may doubt that a man this unimposing is Lucifer, but I've found that evil can come in a lot of prosaic packages. The attitude I would expect is all there. As the stories go, Lucifer was the most beautiful angel in Heaven before he took a dive. I'm inclined to believe that.

'Scout shifts a little, reaching up to touch the side of his head gingerly. Relief floods through me. He'll live through a bump to the head. I was a little worried that damage had been done that I couldn't see. Not gonna' lie, I'm also grateful that he's still wearing his pants.

I circle around Lucifer and into the center of the room. He walks after me slowly, putting some distance between Boyscout and us. Good, that's what I was hoping he'd do. "You took someone who belongs to me," I quip, half joking, half serious.

Lucifer tosses the disk behind him and it reaches out with long bands of metal to latch onto his back. As the armor snaps around him, black crawls across the bright gold. Where there were smooth lines and intricate decorations on John, there are sharp edges and spines on Lucifer. I can't be sure whether the armor molds itself to the bearer, or if he's corrupting it.

The helm clanks into place over his pleased grin, growing horns of metal out the front as he hisses, "Well you weren't playing with him. Seems to me that you were busy with Aphrodite."

"You planted her so you could get to John," I growl as the realization hits me.

He shakes his head, examining the clawed gauntlets. "Your father wasn't very bright either. Pity."

Lucifer walks across the room and rips one of the curtains down. Behind it, there's a wicked lookin' broadsword hanging on the wall. The metal itself is black and glossy, the edge flaring out into a series of points that don't look like they serve much of a purpose beyond intimidation. Veins of metal run down the length of the blade, converging between the points into a bizarre bulge. As I study it, the metal bulge opens and looks at me. There's a bloodshot eye set into the sword like a gemstone.

Lucifer grabs the weird-ass sword and lifts it out of its cradle, "I wasn't after your lover, by the way, just the armor that he had no idea how to use."

I attack while his back is turned, hoping to catch him off guard. He whips around and slings the sword through the air. I throw my arm up just in time to block it. Sparks fly. The hit reverberates through my arm and it actually hurts. I back up, rolling my stone hand to try and shake the pain.

He cackles and does some acrobatic bullshit, slinging the sword around his body and spinning it. "Is that really it? After all the prophets got done building up the tale of the great Anung un Rama, slayer of Satan, I was almost frightened. The moment has passed."

Smart-ass bastard.

I set my eyes on a heavy end table and I slowly circle towards it. He seems like the type to gloat. I'm not disappointed.

"I suppose all their visions didn't take Michael's armor into account. You lover was so willing to give it up to me, in every filthy way you could imagine."

I can hear the smile in his smug voice and push at my rising anger. As much as I want to just throw myself at him and pummel him until he stops breathing, I'm going to need a different tactic. Whatever that sword is made out of is a match for my stone and I doubt that bullets are going to do anything to the armor.

My fingers brush the edge of the table. I curl them around a leg and chunk the table at him, running at him. He shatters it with a single swing, but I'm on him before he can recover. My punch lands in the center of his chest, denting the armor slightly. He stumbles back a few steps. I sling my right hand at him again. Dodging back, Lucifer spins the sword into position and lunges. The point catches my side. I clamp my hand around the blade and yank him to me, head butting him hard enough to break one of his metal horns.

Somethin' warm runs down my forehead. Not hard to assume that it's blood. I wipe it off before it can get to my eyes. Lucifer desperately yanks at the helm. The metal is crushed in so the eye slit is almost closed.

My, "Oops," drips sarcasm.

Before he can get the helmet off, I slam my fist into the side of his head. He falls back against the wall. Instead of laying there so I can get another good hit in, he's swallowed by the shadows. Great, just fucking great. Now he could come out in any damn shadow in the room, and this room doesn't have much in the way of lighting. It's more like a dungeon, actually.

I study the walls carefully, not even sure what I'm looking for. I take a second to glance over at 'Scout. His eyes are open, but they're glazed, almost like he's drugged. He's definitely not coherent yet.

Pain explodes through my shoulder. I whip around to return the attack, but Lucifer steps back into the darkness. He could've gone for a killing blow easily. He thinks he's toying with me. He's going to regret that.

"Come out and fight me, you back-stabbin', Heaven reject."

His voice comes from every shadow at once. "There are a lot of things I didn't like about that sentence," he purrs.

"Then get your ass out here where I can see you," I'm trying to play it cool, but I'm sweating a little. I don't like fighting something I can't find. "Unless you decided that the prophets were right."

"You might as well save your breath, lesser. You can't goad me."

I hear the thick sound of flesh separating before I feel the fiery sting race across my back. I swing wildly, trying to hit something, but he's already gone. A roar rips out of my throat. This is getting old. I wish I had a fucking spotlight so I could find him.

A groggy, "Red?" makes me look down at 'Scout. He's sitting up, still rubbing his head. The last thing I need right now is him trying to 'help' in this state. He'll try too.

"Stay down!"

I might as well be talking to a wall. John climbs to his feet, but he's shaky, barely standing. He must've taken quite a blow. Too many more concussions and the kid might have to start worrying about brain damage.

Lucifer rams me while I'm not paying attention. For a guy so tiny, he packs a punch. I stumble into the wall and the shadows come to life. They wrap around my arms, my legs, pinning me to the wall. Yanking at them doesn't do any good.

"Fuck," I hiss between my teeth as I strain against the shadows.

Lucifer finally slips out into the light. The eyeball in his blade is rolling around like crazy, all the veins leading to it are bright red with my blood. It's feeding. When I kill this son of a bitch, that sword is the first thing I'm going to destroy. I've seen a lot of evil objects over the years, but that one takes the fuckin' cake.

The twisted mess I turned his helm into has reshaped itself. Even the damn horn grew back. I really want to go back to the days when a sword was a sword and armor was armor and none of this shit was alive! His helmet folds away from his head and I have to smirk at the big bruise I left on the side of his face. He flips his hand over on the hilt of the sword, his other wrapping around the rest of the grip, and my smile disappears. He's going to impale me on the goddamn wall!

As I struggle, Lucifer raises the sword over his head. His expression is euphoric. "To the end of a prophecy."

John screams and there's this bright flash of white. I'm loose. I can't see very well, but I'm loose. I launch my right hand forward and it connects with a body with a loud clang of metal. Glad I got the correct target. I move forward awkwardly, blinking to try and get my sight to come back. My foot bumps into something metal. The sword. I grab it.

Lucifer takes a swing at me with those clawed gauntlets, but I block it with the blade. The tips of the metal sheer right off. With a furious yell, Lucifer unfolds his massive, black wings from his back. As they flex and move, I can see shards of sharp bone peering from between the feathers. He lashes one forward faster than I can blink, ripping into my chest.

"What is it with you people and takin' chunks out of me with your wings?"

I raise the sword for the next strike and he pulls the wing back just before it touches the blade. It was a fake out. The other wing comes in low, connecting with the side of my knee. I go down hard. I swing the sword at him wildly so he'll back off.

Lucifer paces just out of reach of the sword like a caged animal. He pauses and looks down at his arms and I get a sinking feeling in my stomach. 'Scout made a weapon out of the armor itself. I think he just figured it out. Two lengths of metal crawl across his fingers on both hands, forming short swords.

"Crap," I mutter.

Flapping his wings once, Lucifer launches into the air and comes down on me with both blades. I manage to block him, but he's really fucking fast with the lighter weapons. They come in rapidly at all angles. I turn the sword every way I can to keep the blades from finding their mark. He hits my left bicep, the edge of my ribcage, the corner of my jaw. Blood runs hot on my skin.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see 'Scout on the move. I want to tell him to sit still and stay out of the way, but my attention is pretty well focused on staying alive. John's voice rises above the sharp twang of metal on metal. He's speaking the language I don't know, his voice separating into many, like an echo right on the heels of an echo. He sounds like Michael.

As John's words get louder, Lucifer gets slower. I manage to shove him off me and watch as he kneels on the rug with a chorus of furious words, the armor peeling away from his neck. I don't know what the hell is going on, but I'm not wasting the opportunity. I flip the sword in my hands, take a step forward, and thrust it into the back of Lucifer's neck.

His blood hisses as it hits the ground, evaporating almost the moment it pools. Acrid smoke fills the room. I cough and wave it away from my face. When the body falls forward, the armor snaps into the disk shape and turns gold.

"What the hell…" I start to ask, but am not really sure what out of that slew of weirdness I wanted to ask about.

In one, quiet voice, John answers me, "I reminded the armor who it belonged to."

"Couldn't you have done that a little earlier?"

He rolls his eyes and rubs the back of his neck, "I didn't realize I could until it came to me."

We both stand there in silence, watching the last of Lucifer's blood dry up. The carpet underneath is scorched. I know this is my opportunity to fix things, but I want to make sure I approach it the right way. I turn some ideas over in my head, trying to figure out what's best. 'Scout picks up his shirt and yanks it over his head, fiddling with the hem once it's on.

I start with, "You okay?"

"Yeah." He hesitates, throwing a timid look in my direction. "How about you? Seemed like you were getting your ass handed to you."

"Yeah, well I'll be-"

"Sore in the morning, I know."

I press my lips together and nod, tossing the creepy sword to the floor. "Look, Boyscout-"

"It's John."

Ouch… would someone kindly take the knife out of my chest? Fuck. He hasn't said that to me in over fifty years. I take a step forward, which he mirrors in the opposite direction. That hurts as much as him telling me to call him by his name.

I grit my teeth and tell myself to be patient. "John, I'm sorry about what happened out-"

"Don't," the one word is so sharp and angry that I have to look up at him.

His whole body is rigid, his arms crossed over his chest. Despite the resentment his posture is radiating, his eyes are pained. It makes me want to reach out and pull him to me, to hold him until everything else disappears, but there's no way he's going to put up with that. I owe him an explanation.

"If you'll just listen-"

"I don't want to listen to any excuses. I've been through this before and I'm not going to do it again."

"What?" That catches me off guard. I've never been unfaithful, not completely, so this has got to be something else.

He uncrosses his arms and points a finger accusingly at the ground, probably thinking about whoever had cheated on him before. "People who are two-timing you always apologize and try to make things better and say that it'll never happen again and you believe them, but then it happens in six months, and then again in four months, and then they come home smelling like a different person every week!" He takes in a sharp breath, glaring at me with teary eyes. "And you aren't going to be any different. You're a demon and demons can't be monogamous."

My lip twitches at his accusation. That's it. I'm not going to stand here and listen to this. I stride towards him, my furious expression enough to make a flash of confusion and fear cross his face. I lean down and press my shoulder into his stomach. John yelps as I scoop him up.

"What are you doing?"

I don't care to answer that. Instead, I throw him onto the bed and pin both of his wrists in my right hand, crawling on top of him. The tiny bit of fear he had is gone now, replaced by anger that almost matches mine. He bucks underneath me, shouting for me to get off him.

"Shut up and listen to me," I growl.

He stops thrashing long enough to stick me with a glare that could've rivaled Liz's fire. Thankfully, he gets quiet. I don't think me clamping my hand over his mouth would've helped the situation any.

"I'm sick of people telling me what I'm going to do, or be, or kill. I make my own fucking decisions and I decided a long time ago that you're the one I want to be with. So if you're going to let some succubus bitch that works for Lucifer get between us, then you're a fucking idiot."

For a half a second, it seems like my words are sinking in, then the accusations keep coming, "And all the serving girls in Valhalla work for Lucifer too? I'm never going to be enough for you and I'm not going to stick around waiting for you to find something better!"

I open my mouth to shout and close it as I think better of it. If we both keep screaming at each other, nothing is going to get solved. "And who told you that? Him? You know he's got a nickname, right?"

That manages to confuse him. Good, it's time for him to be off center now. "Nickname?"

"Prince of Lies." I bring my left hand up to cup his face, rubbing my thumb across his cheek. "Look, I'm sorry about what happened in Valhalla. I was stupid, but I never would've cheated on you."

"But what if I'm not enough for you?" he whispers fearfully.

I don't have a good way to convince him that I'll never get bored of him. The only thing I can think of is to remind him how well our bodies react to one another. I press a hard kiss against his mouth. John's response is perfect. His body arches off the bed, one leg curling around my hip. I growl hungrily and tongue his lips, my growl quieting into a thrum as he opens his mouth for me. Fire races down my body.

God, he's so addicting. It hits me every time I touch him or kiss him. I always want more. My tongue slides against his as I release his hands. They tangle into the hair at the base of my head, yanking me closer. His groan travels straight to my dick. The wet sounds of our kiss are interrupted only by our deep, gasping breaths in the brief moments we're apart.

John tilts his hips up into mine. His leg slides slowly off its perch on my back as he grinds our crotches together. I'm already getting too hard for my pants, so I reach down and jerk my belt and fly open. 'Scout hands fumble against my shoulders, sliding down to my chest. A tiny bolt of pain twines with my lust when his fingers brush against the open wound. My involuntary grunt is all I can offer in response.

I work my mouth across his jaw to latch onto his racing pulse, leaving a gleaming trail down the column of his throat. I rip his shirt off because it's in my way. My flesh hand kneads the skin on his chest while my stone one curls around his ass to pull his hips tighter against mine. Even through the cloth, the friction is fucking phenomenal.

I wish I could express this NEED to him, I wish I could put it into words. If I could explain how much my body aches for his, he'd never doubt me again.

'Scout pulls at my shirt, barely managing a whimpered, "Off," as I torment his navel.

He sits up as I lean back onto my knees. While I strip my shirt over my head, he pushes my pants down my thighs. I twist my tail free, but don't bother getting out of the leather completely. I don't have the patience for it right now. 'Scout drops back onto the bed with a drunken grin, his lips swollen and red from my assault on them. He reaches back to twist his hands in the sheets, spreading his body out for me.

Once I strip his jeans off, I sit up again. A content rumble comes from my chest as I study him. I don't know why he would think I would ever get tired of this. Stretched out beneath me, John is all quivering muscle and lusty anticipation. Just because I know every square inch of him doesn't mean that I don't want to taste his perfect nipples, or run my hand over his thighs, or listen to him scream my name as he comes. Hell, it probably just means that I appreciate those things even more.

As I slide three of my flesh fingers into my mouth, John spreads his thighs wordlessly. My dick jumps at the sight. I don't know how much foreplay I'll be able to stand. I need to get inside him. Covering his body with mine, I devour his mouth as I find his entrance with two fingers and push. He makes a tiny noise akin to a mewl, but takes both fingers without any trouble. I know it's a little faster than we normally go, so I twist them around to find his prostate quickly. His pained whine instantly melts into a moan.

I pull out of our kiss as I add the last finger, working him open quickly. His expression is intoxicating. His eyes are squeezed shut, his brow titled upward, and his perfect mouth hanging open as he pants. I growl and shove my fingers in deeper, wringing a shout from him.

"God John, why would you ever think I would get tired of you," I breathe against his ear.

He releases the sheets and slips his arms around my neck, whimpering softly as I press against his prostate in a rhythmic motion. "I… I don't… Ah! Come on, Red!"

Guess that means he's ready. Although, I didn't need him to say anything, I could tell just by the pitch of his voice. I draw my fingers out of his heat and spit in my hand, slicking my cock for good measure. He's still very tight, so I push in slowly, biting down on my need to pound into him. His legs come up around my waist, squeezing hard enough that his heels dig into the base of my spine.

John's fingernails bite into my shoulders as his teeth find my ear. Even around his mouthful, I can still hear him muttering my name over and over. He occasionally mixes it with a curse word or a sharp gasp. I snap my hips forward so I'm fully seated in him and the mantra becomes a drawn out moan. His body tightens around me almost like he's trying to hold me in.

I start a brutal pace because it's what we both seem to need. We slide up the bed. I reposition my feet once to get more leverage and then plant my stone hand in the bed just above John's shoulder. He's going to have a bruise from running into it, but he's not complaining now. I keep my thrusts tight and fast, the entire length of my body rubbing against his. His dick is trapped between our stomachs and I know he's getting plenty of stimulation. His cries get louder and higher with each thrust.

My body is burning from the inside, heat radiating through my skin. Low in my stomach, I can feel my orgasm building. As I get closer, I stop making sense. I join John in muttering gibberish. Pretty sure I say his name a few times too. His mouth leaves my ear, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses along my jaw line. Eventually his lips find mine and I thrust my tongue into his mouth, muffling his moans.

The fire of my orgasm flares up and I know it won't be long. I slide my hand between our bodies, the sweat making it a little easier, and grab his cock. John arches back into the pillows, twisting his fingers back into the sheets. His shouts are ragged. I twist my hand on his length and press my thumb against the crown and John goes off. I have to grab the headboard as his body spasms around me. I manage another two thrusts before my orgasm rips through me and I roar my release.

I have to blink spots out of my eyes as I come down. Beneath me, 'Scout is trying to catch his breath, his hands leisurely stroking across my chest. I let go of the headboard and collapse on top of him. When I bury my face in the crook of his neck, he trails his fingers up my back and starts running them through my hair. I guess it came undone at some point.

"I believe you," he says almost so softly I don't hear him. If I wasn't lying on top of him, I probably wouldn't have even known he'd spoken.

I chuckle and wrap an arm around him, "I would hope so, especially after all that."

His breathing changes when he finally goes to sleep. I was thinking that I wasn't going to be able to drift off myself, but listening to John's steady heartbeat, I eventually join him.


	10. Unleashed

- John

Something jars me awake. For a few groggy moments, I can't figure out what it was. Red is in a different position on top of me, but him shifting around at night stopped waking up decades ago. It had to be something else. The sound registers in my subconscious the way a slight itch would. I feel it in my nerve endings before I can even hear it properly. All of my hair on the back of my neck stands on end and my flesh breaks out in goose bumps.

I ease out from underneath Red, wincing as my body protests the movement. It's a sharp pain now, but it'll be a dull ache within a few hours, so I brush it out of my head. The sound is much more important. I can't quite figure out what it is. It's a low, deep swell of noise, almost like the hum of a generator as it heats up.

I pad across the floor, following the din to one of the curtained walls. There aren't any seams on the cloth that I can see, so I pick it up by the bottom edge. Warm orange light spills from underneath it. It must be hiding a window. I slip under the curtain and let it drop involuntarily, frozen in shock by what I see.

We must be in a building several stories tall because the view that greets me is both wide and terrifying. We're in a cave made of very dark rock with massive stalagmites jutting up from the floor like teeth. There aren't any stalactites coming to meet them. In place of a ceiling, there's fire that licks downward. In the fire, there are human bodies writhing, far too many to count. From here, I can see their flesh bubbling from the heat. The fire has eaten away their hair, their clothes, their eyes… all that's left is their bodies, burning without burning. I tear my face away before I can figure out if any of them are turning to ash.

The only other thing I can look at is the hoard of creatures gathered at the base of the building. It's a giant mass of horns and teeth and claws and rotting skin and erotic dancing. The loud noise I heard is coming from them. In one voice, they're calling out, "Anung un Rama, Anung un Rama, Anung un Rama!"

My heart pounding, I back away from the window so quickly that I get tangled in the curtain. It catches on my heel and I fall, ripping the whole thing down with me. The sickly orange light fills the room. Shadows flicker and dance in the corners in a mocking version of the human souls trapped in the fire.

I scramble to throw the curtain off so I can get farther away from the window. My stomach is churning with fear, with revulsion, with panic. When I manage to get out of the knot of heavy velvet, I run to the bed and shake Red.

"Hellboy, wake up!" I'm practically screaming. "We've got to get out of here, now!"

His eyes flash open and I see all of his muscles cord up in response to my panic. He rolls out of the bed on high alert, planting himself between me and the rest of the room. Instinctually, he puts his flesh hand back to maneuver me behind him, his right hand curling into a fist. There's no trace of sleep in his voice when he asks, "What's going on?"

I move around his hand to grab my pants off the floor and frantically haul them on, "We've got to get out of here. We're in Hell, Red, and not in the metaphorical way."

"I know."

I pause, my torn shirt clutched in my hand. "What?"

Red looks over his shoulder at me with a smirk that has a lot of jumbled emotions hiding in it, "I came down here to get'cha, didn't I?"

We stare at each other while that processes. He came all the way into hell to pull me out, to save me. That understanding comes with other, less pleasant insights. My eyes stray to the floor and the burned edge of bloodstain peeking out from around the corner of the bed. "Then who the fuck was that?" I barely manage to whisper, fear clutching at my insides.

HB's walking towards the window as he answers me, "Lucifer." His voice is distant.

My legs get weak. I was lured into Hell by Lucifer himself and I survived. I should buy a fucking lottery ticket right now, because my luck will never be better.

I have to brace my hand on the bed as I move around to look at the body of the original fallen angel. Thing is, there isn't much of a body left to look at. Centered in the scorch marks is a sack of flesh that has been ripped open like a grotesque Christmas present, but instead of the organs and bones you would expect to see, there's nothing. The skin is empty.

Moving away from the ribbons of tissue is a single, bloody trail. It's smeared along the carpet in a wide patch that leads under the bed. My stomach knots up as I realize that SOMETHING either ate Lucifer or came out of him and it's still hiding in this room.

I start to back away from the bed before I realize that Michael's armor is perched in the middle of the mess of coagulated blood and hair and skin. Taking a shallow breath and holding it, I dash forward to snag the disk out of Lucifer's remains. The blood makes it slick. My fingers slide over the metal and I have to grip it with both hands to avoid losing it.

I don't want to tear my eyes off the thin slit of shadow underneath the bed, so I backpedal towards Hellboy awkwardly, feeling the way with my feet. "Red, there's something in here," I groan, my eyebrows knitting together.

I keep my voice low, but I can't hide my fear. Nothing in this place is right. I want to get out, to go anywhere that's not here. I would even settle for backwater hick country as long as I don't have to listen to the chanting and the screaming and the howling and my panicked heartbeat.

My back finally touches HB's broad frame and I reach back to lace my fingers in his hand. Why isn't he saying anything? I regrettably turn away from the bed so I can tug at Red's hand, "Please, Red, can we… get… out…" I trail off, my dread mounting.

HB's irises are gone. His eyes are solid yellow and his horns are in the middle of growing to their full height. Something sears the hand I have wound in his and I jerk back with a shout. His father's rosary is melting off his wrist. The cross and beads are white-hot, small bits of molten metal dripping from the chain. As the metal hits the ground, it keeps burning. I doubt that anything holy is meant to survive here.

The hoard outside is getting louder, screaming his true name in a voice that is a hundred-thousand strong. I don't know how to combat it. In Russia, it was one voice that made him this way. After I was raped, it was rage that made him this way. Each time, I got him to come back to himself, but this is different. I don't think my voice is loud enough to be heard.

"Hellboy," I whisper.

Down the hall, something crashes. It's loud enough to make me cringe away from the door. The shouting is inside now. The demons are coming to us. My breathing comes in shallow pants. I back into the corner of the room, only stopping once my back encounters the velvet curtain and the stone behind it.

Hellboy is just standing at the window, staring out at the crowd.

I clutch the disk to my chest as I scream at him, "Wake up, Red!"

When he doesn't move, my 'fight' instincts start kicking in. I slap the armor onto my back and let the warm metal spread around me. Calm shoots through my panic as the helmet clanks into place and the sword slides down my palm. By sheer numbers, I know I'm screwed, but I'm going to fight them off as long as I can. I have to give Red more time to regain control.

Pushing off the wall, I stride towards the door and slash through the first gaping mouth that comes careening around the corner. The demon falls at my feet in a fountain of black blood. Its heavy, chalk-colored flesh twitches as it dies.

The second one is smaller, but its claws are as thick and as long as railroad spikes. It lets out a screech that makes my eye twitch and lunges for me. Almost without my conscious decision, my body spins out of the way. The sword lands in the middle of its back with a crunch I can feel more than hear. A strong odor like the smell of the eggs Abe eats invades my helmet. I grit my teeth against my gag and rip the blade out of the demon's spine. Blood flies off the tip to splatter across the wall.

They start coming in masses after that. I try to hold them at the door, but they get past me. They crawl into the room on the ceiling and the wall, their thick claws gripping the stone. My arm shakes with blow after blow as I rip into anything near me. I can feel them tearing at the armor, but the holy metal burns their skin. Silently, I pray that the armor doesn't fall to the same forces that melted HB's rosary.

Even with the advantage the armor is giving me, I'm starting to get overwhelmed. "Red!" I shout frantically. "I need you! Remember, you have a choice!"

I reach down into my core and pull on my power as hard as I can, pushing it outwards. A bright flash of light moves through them in a shockwave. All those near me vaporize instantly, their skeletons remain a second longer in a shadowy echo of their bodies. The light doesn't quite reach the corners of the room and new demons just pour in to take the places of the ones I've obliterated.

In the brief moment between onslaughts, I get my first look at Red since this chaos descended. He's covered in black blood. It's not just splattered on him, one of the demons had to have deliberately painted on his skin with the blood of the dead. There are intricate patterns that follow then continue the scrolling on his shoulder and bicep. Two smaller demons leap onto him the moment they enter the room, their hands already dripping blood.

A savage scream rips out of my throat before I can stop it and I charge. I bat one of the little monstrosities off of his shoulder with the tip of my blade. The other crawls across his chest, chattering like an angry monkey. I snatch its thin, hairless tail and chunk it at the door. I can't explain how, but I know what these symbols mean. If they finish, Hellboy will be gone. All that will remain is Anung un Rama.

Very large, very strong hands grip me around the middle and throw me across the room much the same way I'd just chunked the smaller demon. I crash through the chandelier and hit the wall. Pain reverberates through me. I land with a grunt on the floor. For a few seconds, I can't do anything but lay there. My limbs feel rubbery. When I hear the scratches of clawed feet getting closer, I force myself to shake it off and scramble to get upright.

A massive demon fills my vision. Unlike the others, his skin is a ruddy reddish-brown and he has ram horns curving down over his ears. Saliva drips from his under bite, making the teeth overlapping his thick upper lip glisten. He doesn't look very bright, but he definitely has enough muscle to kick my ass.

I sling the sword at him fast and hard, opening up a series of deep gashes on his chest. He looks down at the wounds stupidly, but when I try to dive past him, one of his gigantic ham-shaped fists bats me out of the air. I collide with the carpet hard enough to make my teeth rattle. A sharp sting darts through my skull, originating at my mouth. Pretty sure I just busted a lip.

I roll to one side and feel the reverberations of something extremely heavy striking the ground near me. The other, lesser demons have gathered around the edges of the room, their eyes glinting with hunger as they watch the giant and I go at it. They remind me of a pack of wolves waiting for the kill to be brought down so they can all feast on it.

Over by the window, the agile, monkey demons are back at work on Hellboy. The crevices in his stone hand are glowing like there's a fire burning inside of it. They've spread symbols and marks all over him. Even from here, I can see them on his chest, sprawling down his bare stomach, over the sides of his face and across his forehead, circling his horns and eyes.

The gigantic demon smashes me while I'm distracted. The blow lands in the middle of my chest, throwing me back with enough force that I fly over the bed and land on the other side. Dozens of claws are ripping at the armor the moment I'm on the ground. They slip into the seams, gouging my skin. I gasp for breath while I flail at them. My sword catches at least one of them and they scatter backwards, leaving a small circle around me.

Heavy footsteps shake the ground. That thing is coming to finish me off. I push myself up with shaking arms, trying to find any reserve of energy I have left. That flash of incinerating light left me pretty drained. As I reach down into my power, calling it, nothing answers. I manage to get my feet beneath me and stagger to them, turning my helm so I can see the approaching behemoth.

A loud snarl draws his attention to the door. I can't waste the opportunity. With a spurt of energy I didn't know I had, I charge and drive my sword into the side of the demon's neck. Arterial spray splashes my helmet and chest as I drive the blade forward. It sticks but the monstrosity is still moving, so I grit my teeth and put my weight into it. Whatever it was stuck on gives way with a sickening crunch I never want to hear again and the blade slides through the other side of his throat. The demon gurgles and falls to his knees. I yank my sword clear just before he topples.

All of the smaller demons start screeching as a three-headed dog barrels into their midst. My stomach sinks. I don't have enough strength left to deal with this. The dog is the size of a small horse. However, the new arrival seems more interested in the demons than he is in me. He lunges more agilely that I would've expected, crunching the little imps in its three mouths, tossing them into the air, pushing them down with his weight and stepping on them.

Just behind the dog, a woman comes rushing into the room. Her eyes catch on Hellboy for a moment and then she focuses on me. As she crosses towards me, the imps flee from her path. Most of them crowd around Hellboy, either to protect him from the dog or to keep us from getting to him. I tighten my grip on my sword, uncertain about everything.

The woman grabs my arm and yanks me towards the door, "I will not be able to hold them off long. We must go."

What sets off my alarm bells is that, even though she's surrounded by demons in hell, this woman's voice is perfectly calm. She reminds me of Abe in a crisis. I pull away, going towards the wall of creatures between HB and me. Arms that are much stronger than I excepted circle my waist. Her thin hands clutch at my armor as she holds me back.

"No, we don't have time," she states sharply, the slightest edge of alarm creeping into her dead tone.

"Red! Wake up!" I push at her hands, not wanting to hurt her but needed to get to my lover. "Let go! I'm not leaving without him."

As we argue, the number of demons in the room swells to unmanageable levels. Even with the massive dog snapping and biting at them, the circle of clear space we have is thinning rapidly. They stare at us with eyes filled with unholy fire. Looking into those eyes is like peering into the purest embodiment of hatred. It rolls off them in tangible waves. I can feel their desire to pull us into tiny pieces and suck the marrow out of our bones.

"You will die here trying to save what is already lost," the woman says, pushing Red's coat against my chest.

I clutch it tightly, watching HB's face for any sign of familiarity, for any sign that he's conscious beneath Anung un Rama. He blinks and rolls his neck with a formidable crack. When he breaths out, he breaths steam. My heart wrenches as I realize that the woman is right. Hellboy is lost.

She gives one last tug to my arm and I finally follow. The demons part for us to avoid getting devoured by the three-headed dog. Some of them still snap at our hands and heels, but none of them dare get close enough to do real damage.

We run down the hall towards a wall of thorns that's holding back a hoard of demons a few hundred strong. It's spread from floor to ceiling, the vines coming out from between stones and bricks. The vines are so thick that they've pushed the rock aside. The smaller demons are still crawling between the thorny growths, but the larger, more terrifying breeds are throwing themselves at the wall. There's a slick of blood covering the ground on both sides.

Just before the thorns, the woman yanks me to the left, into a small room. The dog darts into a stairwell that looks like it's been carved out of solid rock. She shoves me towards the staircase.

"Go, I will close it behind us."

There didn't seem to be any door that I could see. I stumble up the first few steps and turn. The woman crouches on the ground just inside the entrance, pressing her fingers to the rock. Wild howling and screaming is getting louder, I can only assume that the demons are going to break through the wall of thorns any moment. I'm about to ask what the hell she's trying to do when something sprouts from the solid rock. The crack it managed to squeeze through separates with a sound so loud I slap my hands to the sides of my helmet. It doesn't help deafen it any.

My eyes go wide as the tiny sprout leaps upward and slams into the ceiling. The ground shakes. More sprouts join the first until there's a wall much like the one outside her room. Except it doesn't stop growing. The tendrils of green claw their way into the ceiling, dragging down hunks of stone that clatter and smash around her tiny frame. She doesn't seem concerned, but I can't watch her get crushed.

When the sprouts are thick enough to be considered trees and the cavern is collapsing around us, I grab the back of her dress and haul her away. We run up the stairs, chunks of roof falling in our wake. The rumbling slowly subsides but we keep running. We run until my gasps knife into my lungs and my legs seem to be moving on their own. We run until we see daylight.

I'm sitting on a rock curled up in HB's jacket since I don't have a shirt to wear. Spread out in front of me is the foulest smelling lake I've ever encountered. It's like breathing liquid rotten eggs. Abe has already told me that it's because the lake has high sulfur content, but I really don't care. My mind flickers ceaselessly over what just happened in Hell.

The woman who rescued me is called Persephone. I know she's one of the Grecian goddesses, but I haven't got much of a clue about her beyond that. She took us straight to this horrid lake where we found Athena and Abe. She and Athena have been talking in lowered voices ever since.

Right now, Abe is in the water. I think Athena said that their gate to the underworld was at the bottom of the lake and she's having Abe check it over, to make sure everything is still sealed. I could tell that Abe wanted to stay on the surface with me. I can only imagine what I must look like. I'm battered, bruised… broken. Not just my bones. I feel broken in every sense of the word.

I can't believe I left him in Hell…

I clutch his jacket tighter, pulling the lapels up to my face. Breathing his scent doesn't help, it really just makes it worse, but I do it anyway. I'm too exhausted to cry. My eyes sting like there are tears to shed, I just don't have anything to give.

As I lightly rub one of the lapels against my face, a tiny tinkling sound reaches my ears. It's almost like a small bell. I lower the jacket and pull it open, staring at the plethora of pockets. They're full of all manner of trinkets and charms so it's no surprise that there are things clinking together, but there's something about this noise that makes me slip my fingers into each pocket in turn.

The first four pockets yield trinkets I've seen before, some of which I actually know the purpose of. As the tips of my fingers find the bottom of the fifth pocket, my eyes widen and my breath catches in my throat. I don't have to pull them out to know what they are. I close my hand around the bands of metal and hold them out to the sun. On my trembling palm are two simple platinum rings. One is almost twice the size of the other, so big that the smaller ring can fit snuggly inside it. They're covered in a dusting of tiny scratches, as if they've spent months, or even years, bouncing around inside his jacket.

I wonder when he bought them. It had to have been when we were still on base since he couldn't have gone out to get them himself. I can only imagine how many threats he would've made on the agent that went out to get them, probably telling him that he would squash him if he told anyone about the errand, afraid it would get back to me.

"Oh, Red," I whisper, lightly running pad of my thumb over the edges of the bigger ring.

I slip the human-sized band onto my ring finger and smile bitterly at the perfect fit. I close my hand over the larger band. Gripping HB's ring in my fist until my knuckles are white, I bite back a sob and make a few silent vows, for him and for myself. I push his ring into the pocket of my jeans. Maybe after the world has ended, I'll get a chain for it.

"It was almost a year and a half ago."

I blink up at Abe, confused. He's standing right next to me, but I didn't hear him come up. Abe really isn't sneaky, especially when he's dripping water like a faucet, so I suppose that means I'm more than a little distracted.

I'm shocked by how level my voice is when I ask, "A year and a half?"

Abe sits on the rock next to me, putting enough distance between us that the water soaking into the rock doesn't get me wet. "Yes. He ordered them online and had them shipped to me, nervous that you would see the package if he had it sent to himself." Abe shakes his head slowly, "He had plans to give them to you and, well… You know Red better than anyone, so it would be no surprise to you that he started second guessing his decision."

"He was afraid I would think it was cheesy." I can almost hear the argument he would've had with himself about it. Expressing his emotions has never been something that came easily to Red. Dragging a genuine "I love you" out of him is like pulling teeth, it practically takes an act of God.

"I tried to explain that you found heartfelt sentiment to be endearing, but he had already made up his mind by the time I spoke with him," Abe says with a dismissive wave.

My smile is thin and pained. "That's Red for you," I conclude regrettably. "But he kept them and I know what that means."

"Yes, that is an action that speaks the volumes that he cannot."

I look up at Athena and Persephone. Compared to the tiny woman from Hell, Athena is so animated and intense. It could just be made more extreme because Persephone is the complete opposite. Persephone is almost more of a doll than a person. Her face holds no expression, it's just as empty as her voice.

Even with all of these gods and immortals on our side, how are we going to win this?

Almost as soon as the thought takes shape in my head, Abe answers me, "With perseverance. The one thing I have noted about mankind in all the years I have lived at the edges of society is that it is extremely resilient. A wild animal will fight if it is cornered, but when mankind is wounded, it doesn't just fight, it rallies. I think you will find humans more than a force to be reckoned with in these coming days."

"Humans?" I try not to sound skeptical.

It's been a long time since I've been human, but I know firsthand the difference between fighting as a man and fighting as a wolf and as an angel. If I went back to just being human, I would never survive any of this. And, knowing what I do know, I never would've launched myself into the missions next to Hellboy. Humans are delicate… frail… Which is why HB has such a hard time even now with me running into battle. He's stuck on that first impression, on the fact that I was extremely breakable when I started in this business.

"You were never as frail as you think. Are you aware of what happens to almost every other species in the world if they get bitten by a werewolf?"

"No."

"They die. You survived even though your wounds were enough to take a lesser man. You fought through the most hellish and painful transformation that has ever been documented and you came through it with sound mind, which is almost unheard of. You were never frail, John."

A little heat rushes to my face at the compliment. If it had come from anyone else, I would take it as a good-natured attempt to help alleviate my pain, but Blue is always straightforward. When Blue says something it's because he means it.

"Thanks, Abe."

"I do hope it quells your hurt, even if it wasn't my intention," Abe says with a half-smile. "Oh, yes, I think I might have something you need. If we get into a battle anytime soon, you're going to lose the other ring and Red will be very angry." His fingers waggle a bit above the numerous utility pouches on his belt before he settles on one. He draws a length of black cord out of it.

I take the cord and pull HB's ring out of my pocket, threading it through. The string is thick with water and it's difficult to force it into a knot behind my head. After I struggle with it for a moment, Abe leans over to help. His deft fingers get it tied in a second and the ring falls heavily against my sternum. I pick it up, letting it slide onto my thumb as I examine it. My chest constricts and my breathing staggers.

"Do you think we'll ever see him again?"

Abe shrugs gingerly as he refastens the pouch, "Red has come back from things that I never imagined he could, so I hesitate to make a judgment call at this point."

I open my mouth to answer and Anubis comes stumbling out of the bushes before I can make a peep. He's bleeding heavily from a number of long gouges across his back and chest and arms. Abe and I jump to our feet and rush over as he collapses. The goddesses race around the lake to join us. In a flourish of growing flowers, Persephone falls to her knees beside Anubis, laying her hands across his back carefully.

"Report," Athena snaps.

I glare up at her, "Give him a minute."

"We might not have a minute. What if this threat is about to be at our throats?"

I can't stop the conclusion I come to: This woman needs to get laid. I don't think I've ever met someone so uptight before. Abe catches my thought and he actually snorts with barely suppressed laughter. My eyes go wide, both in fear that he's going to explain to Athena why his chuckling, and in shock that his impeccably calm personality actually broke for a split second. Before anything can happen in either direction, Abe composes himself.

The gouges on Anubis's skin start shrinking. I guess Persephone's abilities don't stop at helping plants grow. As the bleeding lessens, Anubis sits up as slowly as an old man with arthritis. Everything is hurting him. He must've taken a massive beating. When the gouges are just thin, pink scars, Persephone places her hands in her lap and stares at Anubis.

He takes a deep breath, something snapping back into place inside him, and he opens his eyes. His words are quiet and filled with dread, "The gate in New York is open. Hell has been unleashed."


	11. Traitor

- John

I stare across the East River at Manhattan, trying to ignore the piercing human screams that carry across the water. There's a terrible orange glow coming from between the buildings. It's the same kind of fire I saw in hell. The smoke curling out of the city doesn't drift and dissipate like smoke from a campfire. It's almost like a living thing. As we watch, it spreads in thick, greasy tendrils across the sky, blotting out the sun. Within a few hours, I suspect that the city will be completely shrouded in darkness. Shadows are creeping across the buildings already.

Abe and I are on the Brooklyn side of the river, between the Manhattan Bride and the Brooklyn Bridge. Both have a small handful of people sprinting across them. I'm horrified that there aren't more. The demons fell upon the city so suddenly that no one could get away.

The only other signs of survivors are a few ferries making a slow trek across the river. One is mostly empty, the few people on board clustered at the front of the ship in shivering groups. Another ferry is on fire, burning as it drifts listlessly across the harbor. I look away when I realize that there are bodies writhing in the inferno.

Beside me, Blue is muttering under his breath. From the few words I catch, I think he's reciting an Old Catholic chant for bringing peace to souls who died in battle. I doubt it'll help the millions of people dying on the island, but I finish the chant with him in a whisper. If there's some chance it might do some good, then it's better to say it than to stand in silence.

On the roof of the building directly behind us, Athena is barking out orders at every deity that shows up. So far, she has some Hindu warlords collapsing the Holland Tunnel, a few of her own siblings making rubble out of the east side bridges, and an extremely terrifying god with black eyes called Ek Chuah wreaking havoc on the Lincoln Tunnel.

If we can destroy all the pathways out of the island, we might be able to keep the hellish hoard isolated. So far, we haven't seen anything with wings taking off from the island except for the handful of deities who are brave enough to try and rescue the humans they can. I want to help them, but Athena said she had something for me to do, so I'm just twiddling my thumbs while people are getting ripped to shreds. My stomach is rolling at the very idea.

I turn away from the view of Manhattan's skyline, muttering, "I can't stand this."

"It's going to change everything," Abe says with certainty.

I don't ask. With Abe, I don't have to so I've stopped voicing unnecessary statements around him. I just look to him for the answer.

"There is no way that mankind can continue to deny our existence. There will be no need to hide, no need to scurry around in the dark. The Bureau will be able to acknowledge our work."

"Honestly Abe, I wouldn't be surprised if people decided that everything outside of their norm should be hunted and destroyed. We could be looking at a twenty-first century witch hunt."

He gets quiet at my words, accepting the idea with a slight nod. After a few moments, he admits, "That is a very real possibility."

I'm much too agitated to keep standing here. I pull out my wings and flex them a little. "Do you want a ride up?" I ask Abe, motioning at the top of the boutique Athena is operating on.

Blue hums and shakes his head, "No, I believe I would prefer the stairs."

"Alright."

Flapping my wings quickly, I manage to get enough lift to rise to the top of the three-story building. From a dead start, it's not easy. I barely rest the balls of my feet on the stone railing of the roof, wanting to be sure of my footing before I fold my wings. I may run off of the really good lessons Freya pushed into my head, but it doesn't mean I'm absolutely certain I'm not going to crash and die. She told me my confidence would grow as time went on. I hope she's right.

Athena glances over at me, finishing up with a blonde god that has a sun emblazoned on the chest of his armor, "Sink only the boats with demonic occupants. Save what humans you can."

He nods at her orders and runs to the edge of the roof and leaps off. For a split second, my breath catches in my throat when the idea passes through me that he's going to be a smear on the sidewalk. He reappears on top of a stag with wings of fire, darting for the horizon. I could place him in his proper religion if I thought hard enough about it, but I've met enough gods in the last few days to last me a lifetime.

"Athena, I need something to do," I'm practically pleading.

As I ask, Anubis steps out of the dark shadows on the west side of a shed. He comes over to Athena, reporting, "All but two of the bridges have been handled."

"Good, good. What about the tunnels?"

"Athena-" I start again.

She holds a finger out to me like I'm a young child interrupting mommy's important discussion. I arch my brow at the act, my mouth setting into a tight line. I know I'm not a god, but don't I deserve at least a little respect?

Without acknowledging me, Athena reminds Anubis, "Tunnels?"

His eyes flick to me. He's clearly debating whether or not to say something about it, but I shake my head minutely. Instead, he answers Athena, "One is completely collapsed. Another is mostly blocked and they're evacuating a few survivors out of the last tunnel."

"Excellent."

"Athena-" I press.

She actually shushes me. A low growl slides out of my throat. My wolf still makes appearances from time to time, but only when I'm pissed.

Blue comes out of the stairwell, the door banging loudly behind him. "Ah, Anubis, good you are here. I need you to take me back to BPRD headquarters so I can speak to our director. I need to bring him up to speed."

Eyes flicking around like the pendulum on a clock, Anubis breaks away from Athena and me, "Glad to."

I glare at Athena as they leave, "I'm not a lawn ornament. I'm not a child. I need something to do."

"As soon as someone with enough power to destroy the-" She's motioning behind us at the Manhattan bridge when a swirl of snow materialized on the roof.

It's hot enough here that the snow melts almost as soon as it forms and Odin appears in the center of a slush storm. Athena cocks her hip to one side and plants her hand on it. Her expression enough to melt whatever snow is left. Her shouting is worse.

"The call to arms was sent out an HOUR ago! Where were you, feeding your mongrel bitches?"

Odin isn't fazed by her temper. He waves his hand with a snort, "Your messenger saved me for last. Hardly my problem."

"It is your problem! We could've used your help from the beginning, you lazy, overgrown bear."

My annoyance mounts as they start arguing. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to control myself. My power pulses at the base of my ribcage, just like the wolf used to do. It crawls up my insides as a slow burning fire, begging to rip down my arms in the form of some kind of attack. Their argument seems so damn petty. Human screams still reach us from across the river, stretching my patience to its breaking point.

I separate them and a pulse of white light explodes from my hands, making them both stumble back several steps. I don't think it hurt either of them, but it's enough to get their attention.

"Shut up! We still have two bridges left to demolish! If we don't act quickly, this bank is going to be swarming with demons, so get your shit together!" I'm surprised by my ferocity, but they're stunned.

"The mouse has a voice," Odin mutters even as he's nodding to my words. "You're right. We must act in haste. Take me to the bridge. I will need your wings once it's destroyed."

Several blue-skinned deities appear on the other side of the roof and Athena goes to greet them. As she walks away, she leaves me with a hell of a glare.

"Why do you need my wings? Why don't you just do that snow-transport thing?"

Odin clears his throat, looking a bit embarrassed. "It's not very exact. If I'm moving, I have to time things perfectly."

"It's just easier to get a ride," I conclude for him.

I hope I can carry him. Besides my offer to Abe, I haven't tried to carry anything but myself and Odin is a very big man. He can't weigh as much as HB, but he's just as tall and almost as bulky. It's not really my wings I'm worried about. I doubt I can hold his weight at all. I'm a far cry from being a power lifter. My time at the gym is usually spent running on the treadmill.

My indecision must've been obvious on my face because Odin says, "Just take off and give me your hands. I'll do the rest."

I follow his instruction, holding out both hands to him once I'm in the air. He clasps my forearms up almost at my elbows. Instinctively, I tighten my grip on his arms too, even though I can't get my fingers all the way around them. Taking off with him is not as hard as I was expecting, but it's no cakewalk either. I'm going to be very winded by the time I get to our destination.

I fly low, just in case I lose Odin somehow. The land falls away beneath us, melting into the river in moments. I keep my gaze on the bridge because heights still make me a little queasy.

West of us, there's a spec I think is a god hovering over the Brooklyn Bridge. The water beneath the bridge seems to detonate and rush upwards with a sound like thunder. I watch with wide eyes as the water takes the shape of a gigantic hand that grabs the suspension bridge in the middle.

At first, nothing happens, then the cables start ripping out of the base with whip-like cracks. The structure groans as the water pulls at it. When it doesn't budge, other hands rise up out of the river. They smash into the supports in waves, more generating as the old ones hit in massive splashes. The bridge finally gives way under the onslaught, crumbling into the river. Abandoned cars tumble off the surface, looking like a kid's Hot Wheels set from this distance.

I flap hard as we get closer to the Manhattan Bridge. My muscles twitch and spasm from the strain of it. We barely crest the side. Odin has to lift his feet up so they don't smack into the concrete barrier.

I tuck my wings to get between the suspension cords and lose altitude fast. I let him go over the road. My landing is not particularly smooth. Going way too fast to get my footing, I stumble as I touch the ground. I end up tripping and falling into a head over heels roll that only stops when I slam into the median.

Odin's chuckle doesn't help ease my embarrassment any, "You have to start somewhere, but you have a long way to go, little angel."

I grumble as I shake off my new aches. Climbing to my feet, I readjust HB's massive jacket on my shoulders and look around for anything that might've fallen out of the pockets. There's a little silver disk that might be something. I scoop it up and shove it into one of the inside pockets, just to be safe. Pressing my hand to my chest to make sure Red's ring is still there, I walk over to Odin.

"Always let me go before you try to land," he says jokingly.

"Yeah, thanks. What's the plan?"

He scans the massive structure, his good eye playing over the double-decker road full of empty cars and the subway tracks cutting through the middle of the lanes. "I believe I need the hammer for this."

"A hammer?" I can't keep the uncertain edge out of my voice. He really thinks he can tear down a landmark that has survived hundreds of years with nothing but a hammer?

Odin lifts his hand into the air and a thunderbolt splits the clear sky. There's not a cloud it could've come from for miles. Not even the smoke from the city has spread this far yet. I probably look like an idiot, but I duck because the bolt comes straight for us. Logically, I know ducking won't save me from millions of volts of electricity, but I can't deny the baser instinct that also says I should be afraid of heights and things with big teeth. It's there to keep me alive, so I typically like to listen to it.

Pretty sure, "Holy SHIT!" comes out of my mouth, but it's hard to hear over the searing, crackling sound the bolt of lightning makes.

A breath later and the lightning is gone and Odin is holding a hammer with a head the size of a cinder block. It looks like it could weigh two hundred pounds easily. The sides of the stone head are covered in carvings that are clearly symbols of power. A faint glow is fading from the edges, probably from being super-heated by the bolt that delivered it.

"Not just a hammer," Odin states proudly. "Mjölnir, hammer of Thor, my son."

"Do even godly parents do that? Borrowing their kid's stuff without permission?"

He either doesn't catch, or doesn't get my joke. "The hammer is mine to wield when I require it. He is aware of this."

"Never mind," I sigh.

Hellboy would've laughed.

That thought sends my heart into a panicked flutter. I look back towards the city, pain tightening in my chest and making my eyes sting. The pain is quickly replaced by fear when I realize that a long tendril of smoke is snaking its way above the bridge. Shadows as black as the abyss crawl over the first support arch, licking down the suspension wires and swallowing every car they come to. It looks like a wall of heavy rain graying out everything.

"You will need to take to the air and be ready to catch me. Only one strike of Mjölnir will be required to bring this structure-"

"Look. What is that?"

There's something moving in the gloom, just behind the line of hungry shadows. I cup one hand and shield my eyes from the sun, trying to peer into the shadows. There are hundreds of shapes with glowing eyes coming towards us. The little shapes are clustered around a very large mass that sways back and forth as it walks. Faintly, I can hear the boom of its tread. Sitting on top of the mass is a figure that is illuminated by a ball of fire perched between his horns. My stomach knots at the sight.

"Hellboy," I breathe.

As the army gets closer, I can see them more clearly despite the haze of darkness they bring with them. The thing Red is riding on looks like a dinosaur that crawled out of a volcano and hasn't quite stopped burning. Its massive head swings low to the ground, liquid fire dripping onto the concrete from the empty orbits where its eyes should be. It leaves gouges where its blunt claws scrape across the road, its lizard-like arms and legs so thick with muscle that it must have a hard time lifting its feet too high.

There's a black, metal chain hooked behind its ragged teeth, the ends wrapped around Hellboy's stone hand two or three times. His flesh hand is gripping the sword of Lucifer, holding it across his lap. He's seated up high between the monster's shoulder blades. The position puts him at least ten feet above all of his… soldiers, I guess they are. His yellow eyes burn almost as brightly as his mount's eyes, steam drifting from his nose and mouth like he's a living furnace.

Those eyes fix on me and I swallow to try and get some spit down my very dry throat. God, what's happened to him? I see no trace of my lover in his hard gaze. The swirls of blood have dried on his skin without cracking, almost like a tattoo.

The markings ripple over his bare chest as he dismounts. Demons scatter out of his way and he steps to the edge of the shadows and stops, staring at me. His tail curls and twists behind him like a snake. I know that means he's agitated. I swallow again since my throat is still so parched. It doesn't help.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Odin lifting that massive hammer. Emotions rush through me, but only one wins out. I run to him, throwing my arms up with a frantic, "No, don't!" I grab his bicep like I could stop him. "Please don't! He can't swim!"

"All the more reason," Odin growls, shaking me off as easily as Great Dane would shake off a Chihuahua. He swings.

I get in the path of the hammer, screaming, "No!"

Odin's muscles bulge with the effort from stopping the fall of the hammer. It stills just an inch or so from my head, so close I can hear the sizzle of energy coming from the stone. My heart pounds in my chest, driven by fear for Red, not for myself.

Veins pop out of Odin's forehead and throat as he howls, "You damned fool! Mjölnir would have made you into dust."

"Please," I whisper, wrapping one hand around the solid grip of the hammer. "Please let me try and help him."

His expression falters. For a second, I'm fairly certain that my plea is getting to him, and then he swings a meaty hand at Red, "Look at him. There is nothing left in him but the fires of Hell. Nothing you do will change that. He have been your kjᴂreste, but he is lost now."

"I need to try."

Finally lowering the hammer, Odin nods, "But understand that this bridge will come down if you fail."

I turn back to Hellboy… no, to Anung un Rama. The demon studying me is not Hellboy, but I can only hope that there's enough of him left in there to hear me. I walk forward on shaky legs, the armor snapping forward without any orders from me. My fear is probably enough to make it react. I focus and force the helm off my face, needing him to see me properly.

Anung un Rama takes several steps back, going deeper into the shadows as I come closer. He rotates his flesh hand on the grip of the sword while he scrutinizes me. His nostrils flare with a snort and a plume of steam bursts from his nose. Hesitating only a second, I step into the darkness after him.

"Hellboy, this isn't you. You need to wake up," I start with a thin, uncertain voice.

The smaller demons jeer and growl and chatter behind him. Thin scraping sounds signal them moving forward, but they keep several feet between them and us. Slowly, they circle around us, clacking their sharp teeth at me.

Red's mouth twists in a sneer, his voice nearly an octave lower than his normal baritone. "Traitor," he hisses.

The word lances through me. "No, Red, no." I shake my head furiously, moving towards him.

Anung un Rama raises the sword, pressing the tip against my chest, "Do you stand beside me or against me?"

My mouth works open and shut like I'm a beached fish. I would stand with Hellboy in an instant, but I can't let Anung un Rama's rampage destroy any more innocent people. This argument would probably go better if I wasn't in full armor. It doesn't send a good message. I close my mouth and take a moment to relax (as much as I can, considering) so the armor will retract into the disk.

When it's gone, I admit, "I will stand with mankind and protect them with my life, just like you pledged to do. Stand with me."

"Traitor," he snarls, pressing the point of the blade deeper into my skin.

Without the armor, the tip breaks the surface and a small trail of blood soaks into my shirt. I wince. All around me, the demons snarl and growl with their master. His rage is their rage.

"Remember the choice your father gave you," I whisper as I search his eyes desperately.

He is silent for a long moment and then he states, "The King of Witches does not give choices, he gives orders."

"No, Hellboy-"

My words die in my mouth as Anung un Rama hefts the sword back in preparation for a jab. He hesitates though, uncertainty flickered across his hard features. A hundred voices hiss like steam around us, whispering words like "kill" and "unworthy" and "destroy". I take a step towards Anung un Rama in the inane hope that I can drown out the demons.

"You don't want to do this, Hellboy. I know you don't. Stand with me."

He lowers the blade a fraction of an inch but still keeps it level with my chest. The rage flows out of his face. "Go," he growls.

I reach for him, my panic mounting, "No, Red, I know you're in there!"

When my fingers brush his burning skin, he makes the tip of the sword bite into me and roars, "Leave!"

Shaken, I fall back a few paces. He narrows his eyes and huffs out another puff of steam. Underneath all of his fury, there's pain. As much as I was Hellboy's partner, I was Anung un Rama's as well. The realization that he's trying to save me by letting me go grabs hold of my heart with a hand of ice. By the standard of the other demons, I should be killed for not staying by him during this war against mankind. But I know if I leave, I'll lose him forever.

"Red," I barely manage to rasp from my closing throat. The sting of tears burns the back of my eyelids. I'm not ready to let him go. A small, irrational part of me wants to go to him, to accept his role in all of this just so I don't have to say goodbye.

Something slams into me from behind, shoving me forward. I hear the wet cracking sound before the agony rips through my chest. Metallic blood fills my throat like bile. My fingers scrabble uselessly against the metal protruding from my ribcage and I look up at Anung un Rama with terror. His expression is not that different from mine.

He yanks the sword out of me in a shower of crimson that sprays across his chest. His stone hand winds around the small of my back as I collapse. My body convulses in his arms. Coughing isn't enough to clear my throat so I can breathe. I gasp in a lungful of blood, choking on it. The gurgling sound I'm making is so foreign that it has to be coming from something else. No person makes a noise like that.

Anung un Rama roars at something beyond my dimming vision, possibly whatever shoved me. I don't doubt that he'll tear it into tiny pieces in a few minutes. My bloody hands scrabble for purchase on red flesh. My grip is weak.

I manage to find his gaze and realize that I'm looking into eyes with pupils. Red presses his flesh hand against the wound in my chest. His mouth moves. I think he's calling my name, but I can't be sure. He draws me against him and the last feeling I register is him brushing his face into my hair. My hands slide off his arms when I can't hold on anymore.

- Anung un Rama

My weaker half eases into the back of my mind as our pair dies. Sorrow is not the word for what I feel, it is deeper, more consuming than that. It is an emotion that is more complex than any human could understand. They have such hollow feelings, barely scratching the surface of what a body is truly capable of experiencing.

This is grief. It is sorrow. It is guilt. It is all those things and more. The guilt mostly stems from the nearly human personality I have weighing down my deeper thoughts. He feels guilt. I do not. I only regret the loss that could have been avoided.

I lift my pair's bloodied form, turning back to the city I have already conquered. His passing deserves respect. I will give him that before I continue on the path fate has lain at my feet.

The hoard follows me, but it seethes with anger. The hell spawn are restless. They want nothing more than to press on, sinking their teeth into the tender flesh of mortals. I growl at any that become bold enough to question me. They shrink back into the masses. The lesser demons may not understand this ritual, but they will show respect when I demand it.

A crack similar to thunder pierces the air. I glance back to see the center of the bridge collapsing. The Norse god disappears in a flurry of snow as large pieces of stone and cement plunge into the water. The destruction does not reach us. I keep walking.

I take my pair into the conquered city, to the only place where I know his body will not be disturbed. The moment my feet touch the church's holy ground, they begin to burn. It doesn't hurt me, I'm too powerful for that, but I leave scorched footprints across the cobblestone walkway. I enter a small courtyard to the east of the entrance of the large, gothic-style church. The plants wilt and die as I near them.

Scanning the modest space, I settle on the statue of the Virgin Mary at the far end of the carefully tended garden. Her arms are raised at her sides, her palms turned up in a pose that is less common than that of her praying. My presence makes the statue cry blood. The thick liquid treks slowly down her serene features.

Gently, I lay my pair in her arms, making sure his head does not hit the stone. For a time, I lightly brush my fingers across his face, smoothing back his hair and wiping specks of blood away with my thumb. For the first time since I took over my body, the troublesome personality becomes silent.

I suppose the fight has finally gone out of him.


	12. Overrun

- John

The sky is black. I manage a few slow blinks, but it stays black. There's a slight glow to the clouds. At first, I think it's coming from the ground, illuminating the clouds in a red hue, but the light is coming from within. There's fire rolling and curling just beneath the surface of the smoke. Here and there, it drips through like magma and falls to the ground.

I rotate my head slightly, hissing as pain slams through me. It's hard to breathe. I swallow and slide my tongue around in my mouth. It tastes like I had copper BBs for breakfast. Why is there blood in my mouth? I must've bitten my lip or something.

Other sensations come to me slowly. There's something hard jabbing into my shoulder blades and the back of my knees. That's really only a secondary pain when compared to the ache in my chest. It feels like someone hit me in the sternum with a sledgehammer. I might have a cracked rib, but I can't gather enough strength to sit up and check.

I roll my head the other way, with a less intense jolt of pain. The Virgin Mary is staring down at me. It's not THE Virgin Mary, it's just a statue, but what the hell? Where am I? My brow furrows as I try to scrape up any memory I can. I was standing on the bridge with Odin…

I lift my arm, which is as heavy as a fifty-pound barbell, and wipe at the dark trails running down the statue's face. The tip of my finger comes back red. It's blood. I've heard of signs like this but I've never actually encountered it in all my years of work. I know HB has. When great evil approaches a town or city, often it's preceded by holy statues crying. Only when the evil is very dark do they cry blood.

When I turn to survey the rest of my surroundings, a yelp rips out of my throat. There are several corpses huddled around me. One looks as though he's been floating in a river for days. His skin is bloated and sagging off the bone, making his face longer than it should be. The eyes are sunken too deeply in its head for me to see. The other is the complete opposite. As tall and thin as a hickory branch, he towers over his waterlogged friend. His skin is stretched tight over his sharp-edged features as though he'd been slow dried like jerky. His lips are pulled back, exposing all of his teeth in a very morbid smile.

They lean over me, grinning and staring. I try to get up, but a tidal wave of agony crashes through me. I'm in no shape to fight. I don't think I can even stand. The memory of a sword driving through my ribcage bursts into my thoughts. Anung un Rama's horrified expression sticks in the forefront of my mind, especially how his expression became Hellboy's expression. He's still in there. I can still save him.

I slide one leg off the statue's arm and tumble to the ground. My shout of pain brings the corpses closer. The tall, skinny one clacks his teeth over and over, his cloudy eyes locked on me. I know HB said that zombies weren't real outside of voodoo, but I'm pretty convinced these two mean to eat me.

"Shoo! Go on, get away from him!" Anubis's shouts startle both of the corpses into looking over their shoulders.

He comes at them the way someone might come at a raccoon they found in their garbage can. He swings his hands and approaches slowly. To my shock, they actually shuffle off. The thin one continues to clack his teeth as he walks away. I can still hear the sharp clicking even after he's rounded a corner and disappeared from sight.

Anubis snorts and kneels down to my level, muttering, "Death gods are such vultures."

"Death gods?" I ask, my eyes going to the side street the strange pair disappeared down.

"Yes. They tend to hover around the dead and dying."

"I'm dying?"

Anubis laughs, pushing Red's coat aside so he can look at my chest, "No, you were already dead. I found your soul easily enough, but your body was a pain in the ass to hunt down."

That doesn't scare me as much as it probably should. I've already been dead once before, so it's not like it's a new concept. When you're around such powerful gods and goddesses, I guess any number of them can bring you back from the dead. I wonder if there's any kind of limit on how many times you can be brought back. Wait… didn't Michael have to make me a new body so my old one wouldn't rot around me?

"Um… how are we going to keep my body from decomposing? I was already dead, so doesn't that mean that-"

"If I can get you to a healer, the wounds can be repaired. You're only going to rot if your body's taken too much damage to be fixed, which it hasn't," he cuts down my panicked idea before it can even form properly in my head. "I'm going to patch you back together for now so we can get out of here, but it's not going to last long."

I inhale sharply as he pushes my skin together over the hole in my chest. The skin at the edge breaks apart into thin ribbons. I watch, mesmerized, as the pieces weave together. They tighten painfully and Anubis pulls his hands away. It looks exactly how he described it, a patch job. Blood still seeps from between the narrow threads of flesh. It seems like I could split it open with my fingernail.

"There are plenty of healers back in camp, but we're going to have to get some help crossing the river. With the shape you're in, I don't think you'll be able to use a mirror to get back," he grunts and hauls me to my feet.

I grip the statue's arm to stay standing. My legs feel stable enough, so I let go after a moment. I may be in pain, but my strength is coming back quickly.

"Come on, let's go."

"No."

Anubis quirks his head slightly, his eyebrows merging with his confusion. "What do you mean 'no'? We've got to get you to a healer."

My resolve is already set. I won't leave this city without Hellboy. Anubis won't understand that, but I don't expect him to. "I'm going after Hellboy," I tell him, trying not to leave any room for argument. Apparently, I'm not very good at that.

"That's a fool's errand, a suicide mission. You can't possibly expect to just march through the contents of hell to go get your boyfriend. You'll never make it."

I look down, my gaze catching on the black footprints leading in and out of the garden. I've been buying shoes for Red long enough to know his tread. He was the one who brought me here. His feet must've burned the ground. I glance back at the statue, realizing why she was crying blood. It was him. I was certain before that I'd be able to bring him back, but these signs are very bad.

Not tearing my eyes off of Mary, I say softly, "I'm not asking you to come with me."

Anubis's sigh holds a lot of weight. "No, but you could really use my help and somebody has to keep that patch in place. If you go on your own, you'll bleed out before you get to him."

A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. I'm glad he said that. I wasn't sure I'd make it on my own and I have no idea where to find Hellboy. New York is a very big place. "How will we find him?"

"I suspect he'll be wherever the highest concentration of demons are. He's their master, so they flock to him."

That's better than what I had in mind. My plan ended at 'wander aimlessly shouting Red's name'. His idea seems both more helpful, and more terrifying. I could barely fend off the demons that got inside Lucifer's castle, I'm pretty sure we're going to encounter a few more than that.

I walk to the edge of the courtyard and look down the street, trying to figure out where I am. Everything looks vaguely familiar, so I know I've been here before. I turn around and crane my neck to look up at the church instead. I recognize the rosy granite building instantly, "Trinity Church."

"You know the place?"

"Yeah, Red and I knew a priest here who would supply us with holy water. It was one of the few public places where we were welcome. We used to come here at night and sit in the upper deck of pews while Brother Manchester prepared our gear." I remember the visits well. The priest was one of the few people I've ever met that didn't look at Red as a demon; he greeted him as a friend. "He died about ten years ago, we haven't been back since."

"He wanted to bring you to a place you'd shared," Anubis guesses with a shrug.

"Maybe," I whisper.

Standing at the edge of the churchyard, I suddenly feel very exposed. Demons pop up from behind cars, underneath sewer grating, and between buildings. Their hungry eyes fix on me as if I'm the only thing left to eat in the entire city. I backpedal quickly towards the church. In the brief glance I got, I probably counted twenty demons or more. If we're in the thinly populated area, how are we going to make it to Hellboy?

An idea comes to me as Anubis throws a large piece of cobblestone at the demon pacing the edge of the church grounds. The rock hits the sharp-toothed creature in the forehead, sending it scampering with a pained howl.

"Can you disguise us like you did in Cairo, but make us look like them?"

His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Finally, he says, "I think so… I've never tried something like that before."

I try not to be startled when he's suddenly a hulking figure with twisted features and massive teeth and claws, but I jump anyway. Assuming I have a similar form to him, he made us look like the larger breed of demon. It's a good idea. Even in Hell, the little imps that are populating the streets now fled out of the way as the bigger demons showed up. Hopefully it'll keep us out of too much trouble.

I start for the street and Anubis grabs my arm. "Whatever you do, don't pull out your wings. I won't be able to disguise them very well and demons love angel wings. They'll be on you in a second if they see them," he warns in a low voice.

All I can do is nod as a tremor of fear slides through me. My hyperactive imagination feeds me images of what that would be like, images I can't push out of my head so easily.

"Good. Let's head north. We're practically at the tip of the island, so I doubt we'll find anything towards the river."

I point towards the east side of the church, "We should take Broadway. It's a bigger street and we'll have a better view."

Little did I know that having a better view was definitely not what I want. As we walked out onto Broadway, we could see the extent of what Hell had done to this city. Overturned cars littered the large thoroughfare, fires burning in several of them. There's blood painted on almost every conceivable surface, but there are no bodies, only smears where the bodies were dragged. Windows are broken on every floor of the buildings near us. Inside, I can see countless demons wreaking havoc. They're throwing things, and each other, around the rooms and out the windows.

We make our way slowly, partly so we don't draw attention to ourselves, partly because we have to pick through so much debris. I step over a femur picked clean of flesh and stifle a groan. Some of the imps give us strange looks as we pass, but none of them confront us. Most are just too busy tearing things apart to give us any attention.

Anubis occasionally stops to kick something over or throw things and I try to follow the example, but any real exertion sends pain rushing through my chest. When I help him tip over a food cart, my wound start seeping again. All the demons close to us stick their noses into the air and start sniffing. Anubis lets out a nervous growl.

"Keep moving," he whispers, nudging me.

An imp with long, spindly limbs like a spider leaps up onto the upturned food cart. Its nostrils flare, taking in the scent of my wound. I freeze, but Anubis is quick with a solution. He roars in the thing's face and shoves the cart, scaring it into retreating behind a burning cab. The others go back to what they were doing.

Anubis hisses at me, "Go."

We walk for blocks; I can't really be sure how many. The only thing I know for certain is that we're going in the right direction. With every street we pass, there are more and more creatures sliding in and out of the buildings, fighting over leftovers in the street, and hanging from the signs and lampposts. Thing is, the deeper we go into the city, the bigger the demons get.

A trio of giants, like the one I fought in Lucifer's bedroom, glare at us as we go by. The biggest of the group gets off of the overturned bus he was using as a bench, landing with a thud that I feel in my feet. His skin is so dark red that it's almost a purple and the two sets of horns he has curl back over his head. His Clydesdale-sized hooves click loudly on the cement as he approaches us.

"He knows," I scarcely breathe. I doubt Anubis heard me.

The demon picks up a length of light post from the ground, hefting the six-foot piece of metal as if it was a baseball bat. This one is much brighter than the one I fought before; I can see it in his eyes. He knows we're not what we seem and he's going to kill us both.

The armor snaps around me, even though I can't see it through Anubis's disguise. The sword slides out across my palm and the other two demons get up with deep growls. Anubis tenses and pushes me back gently. He knows I'm not in any shape for this.

Just as the purple demon raises the pole to smash us, a human scream pieces the air. It's a woman's scream. Every head turns towards the sound. She comes scrambling out of a basement, her knees bloody and her clothes torn. Her dark auburn hair falls in her face as she whips around to look back at the basement door. Dozens of imps charge up the stairs after her, some of them scrambling up the walls to get around the crush of bodies stuck in the narrow space.

I run towards her, but Anubis locks his arms underneath mine. "We have to help her!"

"You expose yourself to them and you'll find the same fate. We press on," Anubis rationalizes it in a strained whisper.

I watch, horrified, as the woman falls to her hands and knees. Before she can get up, the little demons are on her. The first one to jump on her back digs its pointed teeth into her shoulder, ripping off a large chunk of flesh. Her screams get sharper, louder as she flails underneath the hoard. They fall on her like a pack of wolves. In a heartbeat, her screams stop.

The big demons move quickly to the mound of imps, roaring and punting them away. Most of them scatter as they reach the body, others rip off limbs to carry off as prizes before the behemoth's can stop them. My stomach churns as I see what's left of her. Her face is still mostly whole, her eyes gleaming wetly as they stare, but the rest of her is red pulp and exposed bone.

I turn away and yank out of Anubis's hold as the bigger demons start eating the remains. We move in silence after that. Mentally, I rage at Anubis for letting that woman die even though I know he just saved my life. He seems just as shaken as I am by watching those things reduce a human being to bone in a few seconds. Every few steps, he casts a glance back at the feasting giants, clenching and unclenching his fists.

We continue up Broadway, stopping at each intersection to judge which direction has the most demons. When we get to the split at city hall, we switch over to Centre Street. The monstrosities are so numerous now that it's like walking through New York before Hell invaded. There are just as many bodies to fight through. The crowd actually helps, there are so many of them that we don't stick out at all. It's not hard to judge where we're going now, the masses of demons are all moving north with a purpose. All we have to do is follow.

The crowd is so thick by the time we get to the edge of Foley Square that I reach out and grab Anubis's wrist so we don't get separated. If I lose him, I'll never be able to figure out which one of these creatures is my ally.

The famous black marble fountain at the center of Foley Square is crawling with imps. Just beyond it, Thomas Payne Park is nothing but scorched skeletons of trees. I make my way through the masses slowly, dragging Anubis behind me. Climbing onto the edge of the fountain is going to be the only way to get a good look at the area. The smell of the water nearly makes me gag. It has the stale odor of piss and bad meat. I'm thankful my sense of smell isn't better than it is.

Anubis supports my back as I climb onto the slippery stone. A grayish imp slams into me and leaps off the fountain into the crowd, cackling loudly. I stumble a little, but Anubis holds me up. Every building in the area is crawling with demons, but only the courthouse has a group so thick that you can't see the stairs. There are even creatures gripping the thick columns with their claws, holding on like bugs or lizards. Getting inside is going to be difficult.

Carefully sliding down from my perch, I lean in and tell Anubis where we're headed. He nods. Pressing through this crowd is like trying to get around a sold out concert. The press and crush of bodies is nearly impossible to navigate. I snake through whatever gaps I can find. Thankfully, the demons don't seem to notice that our skin doesn't feel the same way it looks. My armor leaves scrapes and cuts on the demons I slide against, but they're so wrapped up in howling "Anung un Rama" in an endless mantra that they either don't notice or don't care.

I glance back every now and again to make sure Anubis is still behind me. He falls back a little, but manages to keep up with me. I swear it takes us longer to get up the courthouse steps than it did for us to walk the fifteen or sixteen blocks to get here. Sometimes, we're brought to a complete standstill until the crowd shifts slightly and we can squeeze forward.

We finally break through into the massive entryway. Even if I'd been in this courthouse before, I wouldn't recognize it now. Hundreds of thousands of bones have been fixed to the walls, covering the windows and all of the original decorations. Most of them still have bits of flesh and muscle clinging to them so the scent of decomposition is overwhelming. It's a mass grave made into a room.

A fearful whimper slips out of me. I've never encountered something so grotesque, so primal. Powerful demons are scattered across the room, feasting on corpses and… playing… with a handful of broken people that are still alive. Bile rises into my throat at the scene. The people getting fucked don't even have the strength to scream or fight. Some of them might even be dead.

I shudder and rip my gaze away from them, to the center of the room. Taking up the middle of the room is a massive throne made of stone debris, and bodies, and blood, and bone. A row of skulls grin from the top edge, arranged neatly from smallest, to biggest, and back again. Slumped in the seat is Anung un Rama. His tail is whipping agitatedly back and forth across the edge of the throne. He's livid.

Every demon that approaches the throne gets swatted with the Right Hand of Doom or roared at as they're tossed across the room. When he's not taking his wrath out on his hoard, Anung un Rama has his right elbow propped on the armrest, his head leaning heavily on his fist. The fireball perched between his horns is glowing fiercely, echoing his mood.

"I have to talk to him," I whisper against Anubis's ear.

Even with as quiet as I'm trying to be, a long, spiky demon with a mouth as long as a crocodile looks up from the body he's ripping apart. It hisses, swallowing the man's lower half.

"We're both going to get eaten if we let our images down here."

"Then what did we come all this way for?" I snarl. "You don't have to let yours drop, just do mine."

I separate from him and wind my way through the menagerie of demons. Most of them are looking at me now, even though Anubis hasn't let my image fall yet. The floor crunches and gives under my feet, but I don't look down. When I first came in, I realized that the floor was probably buried a foot deep in bones and I really don't want to look at them any closer than that.

As I enter the empty ring around Anung un Rama's throne, his yellow eyes fix on me and his lip curls. I know the moment when my disguise is gone because a frenzied cry goes up in the room behind me and Anung un Rama's face instantly lights up. I can hear the demons scrambling toward me, but I don't turn, don't tear my gaze away from his. I trust that he'll protect me.

Anung un Rama surges to his feet, directing a bellow at the hoard. They only quiet a little, so he yanks me back and slams his stone hand into the floor hard enough to send fragments of bone and tile flying into the air. The demons still. The room is so quiet that I can hear their saliva dripping on the floor.

When he's satisfied that they're under control, Anung un Rama turns to me, "To make a journey so treacherous, surely you've come to stand with me."

His flesh hand brushes softly over my cheek. Despite myself, I lean into the touch with a pained moan. I want to give up this fight. I want to take my place beside him. I want to be his, but I can't. I've never felt so conflicted before. I put my hand over his, squeezing his fingers desperately.

"Please, Red, I need you to come back to me. I know you're in there."

Anung un Rama's entire disposition changes. His lip curls up in a snarl, his body going rigid as he yanks his hand out of my grasp. His furious yell makes me fall back a step, "He is gone! I am your mate now! You will either accept that or die."

I breathe out slowly, trying to control my nerves. Before I can think of anything to say, he continues.

"Now, do you stand with me, or with them?"

When he points down at the bones littering the floor, at the remnants of people, my mind settles. The decision is easy after that and I'm certain that Hellboy would agree with me. "I stand with them. As long as I'm alive, I will be standing between you and all the innocent people you've decided to destroy. You'll have to kill me to get to them."

A low rumble starts deep in Anung un Rama's chest. It builds to a growl and then to a roar that he lets out in my face. His flesh hand lashes to the back of my head, picking me up by my hair. I cry out at the treatment and grab for his wrist. Pain races around my skull, making my eyes water. I clench them shut. When I open them again, Anung un Rama has regained his calm. He studies me with cold, calculating eyes that hold no hint of the affection I found in them before.

"That's too bad," he croons, lifting me up so he can look directly at my face. My feet kick the air uselessly. He pulls me close, his mouth closing on my jaw in a kiss before he murmurs, "Killing you will be such a waste of flesh. Especially flesh I'm so fond of fucking."

His words sting. Tear slip down my face as I realize that Hellboy is truly lost. I can only hope he won't wake up ever again. I don't think he could face what he's done. Anung un Rama's tongue slides over my ear. It's so hot it almost burns my skin.

"I could just keep you, but you'd never be as much fun as when you wanted me back. I don't enjoy fucking something I have to hold down."

Sobs wrack my body as I start crying freely. My heart is breaking for him, for me. One last idea comes to me. It's a long shot, but I have to try. I make my gaze meet his again, my voice thin and cracked as I offer, "T-then pull your army back into hell and I'll go with you."

He narrows his eyes, his head lifting slightly as he considers it.

I try my best to sweeten the deal, "If you… if you do that, you can have me as much as you want. I won't fight you… I'll… I'll participate if it makes you happy."

I can't manage more than that. Another sob breaks through my proposal and I continue to weep. I know I'll never survive Hell. He'll protect me… my body will live, but my spirit will be broken. I try to think of all the people I'm saving, but it doesn't help. My world is fracturing at the seams and falling down around my ears.

The hand tangled in my hair loosens slightly and the pain fades. He sets me on my feet. I don't have to look at him to know that he's accepted my offer. I keep my eyes trained on the ground, covering my face with both hands. I feel like I need to throw up. My chest aches. In the back of my mind, I hope that Anubis can get out of here safely. He can tell the others that the fight is over.

I stop mid-sob as Anung un Rama falls to his knees in front of me. My eyes snap open and I slide my hands out of the way. Hellboy is looking up at me, his face twisted with grief. For a second, I swear I'm imagining things, and then he pulls me to him. He winds both arms tight around my waist, burying his face in my stomach. His horns rub painfully against the wound in my chest, but I don't care.

I barely dare to whisper, "Red?"

His answer is muffled by my skin, "I'm so sorry, John… God! I'm so sorry."

Relief makes me weak. I crumple in his hold, wrapping my arms around his neck as I fall into his lap. Now, I cry from joy, my tears smearing onto his face as I lay messy, uncoordinated kisses across his cheeks and forehead. He just continues to clutch me. I'm fairly certain he's crying too, his tears far hotter than mine. I bury my face in his shoulder and we sob together. I know he's not wracked by the same emotion I am. He cries for the people he's killed, for the city he's destroyed, for me…

"I really hate to interrupt this lovely Hallmark moment, but we're all going to die unless you can figure out a way to get your demons back under control," Anubis says right next to us. His images, both of them, have faded and he's in his two-legged jackal form. His tail is tucked tight against his body in the way you see dogs do when they're scared.

I sit up to find that the demons have forgotten their meals and their fuck toys and are slowly approaching the throne. My arms tighten instinctually around Red, my fingers digging into his skin. He turns and I know instantly that he doesn't know how to reign them back in. I can see it in the way his face contorts from concerned into the hard lines of seriousness as he goes into battle mode.

Hellboy lifts me as he stands, his stone hand sliding down to support my ass. I want to argue that I don't need to be carried around like a ragdoll, but my throat is much to dry to form words. Instead, I just hold on.

"You could've stayed disguised," I mention to Anubis, curious as to why he'd put himself out in the open like this.

He shrugs, his slick, black fur rippling with the motion, "I figure I've stood back and watched enough people die today."

Hellboy draws Lucifer's sword from its holder on the throne, growling, "Come on!"

They lunge in waves, sprinting across the litter of bones with screeches that will haunt my nightmares if we live. My eyes widen as they get close, my gaze stuck on the hundreds of yellow teeth headed for us.

"Close your eyes," I shout to both of them.

Gripping Hellboy's neck, I reach down into my depths to drag up my power. It comes forward in a blast that levels the first few rows of demons, but there are so many more behind them. The emptiness that flows in where my power was nearly floors me. A wave of dizziness forces me to rest my head on HB's shoulder.

Then they're on us. Red is very limited while he's carrying me. He cuts down a few demons with the sword, keeping his back to the throne. I'm barely conscious after that little display though and I know he won't let me go.

Anubis sticks his clawed hands through an imp's ribcage, throwing the dead body at demon that leaps at Red and me from the ceiling. They both fly off into the masses, disappearing. Anubis growls as one of the demons bites into his thigh. Blood gushes from the wound. There's so much of it that I'm surprised he stays on his feet.

Red gets slashed in the shoulder and I manage to shove my sword through the imp that did it. I wish he'd put me down and protect himself. This knight in shining armor thing is going to get him killed.

"Red, let me go," I shout over the screeches of the attacking hoard. I know he heard me, but he doesn't even acknowledge it. Stubborn bastard.

We're not going to last another five minutes. The hoard on the steps outside is pouring through the courthouse doors. There's so many of them that they block what little light there is outside. They replace the bone wall with a wall of living, breathing, screaming demon flesh.

And then, things get worse. One of the hidden windows crashes into the room as a group of armored angels comes hurdling in. They're led by an angel so dark that I feel as though my breath is sucked from my lungs as I look at him. The scythe he wields tells me everything I need to know.


	13. Vows

- HB

The platoon of angels busts into the room with swords blazing, literally. Their weapons are dripping white flames. I shift my body, putting myself between them and John. The demons all focus on the newcomers, giving us a chance to breathe. I still have to hack down the stragglers so nobody else sinks a mouthful of razors into me.

Anubis is panting, his hands dripping black blood from the fight. It only lasted a minute or so, but he's exhausted. 'Scout's not much better, but I think that's more do to the wound he got just an hour ago. I was convinced he was going to die, so I have no idea how he even managed to waltz in here to bring me back to my right mind. Now, his head is rolling on my shoulder like he can't even pick it up anymore.

The demon's finally clear away from us as the angels slam down onto the floor. What follows is so fucking coordinated it's like these angels have one mind. They take the demons apart without a word shared between them or their commander. The twelve angels in armor create a tight circle with their backs to the center, but the one with the scythe is a force all on his own. Blood falls around him like rain as he splits demons into pieces with the giant blade.

"I thought they wanted to let Hell out. Did somebody change their mind?" I shoot at Anubis. I mean, seriously, did I miss something while I was gone?

Anubis just shakes his long head from side to side, "I have no answer for that, but that," he points at the dark-haired angel, "is Azriel. He's the angel of death."

"Yeah, I figured," I grumble, casting my gaze around for an exit. I'm thinkin' that once they're done taking the armies of Hell down a notch or two, they're going to come make us into hamburger meat. "Maybe we should get the fuck outta Dodge."

"Isn't it 'get the hell out-"

"Whatever, let's go."

I glance down at 'Scout, but he's got his eyes closed. I think he's out. Adjusting my grip, I hoist him up a little higher and make my way around the throne. There's still a few hundred of the little fuckers left for the angels to kill, and they're still flooding in from outside, so I'd bet we've got a minute or two to get out.

Anubis follows me, but his attention is focused on the fight. Dunno whether he's watching our backs or just watching the carnage. We don't get five steps when several of the angels break away from the group and go to the doors. They clear the openings with blasts of light similar to what 'Scout used, and yank the heavy metal doors shut, sticking their burning swords into the handles to hold off the rest of the hoard.

Banging fills the room, accompanied by a sound like nails on a chalkboard as the demons throw themselves at the doors from the outside. It won't hold them too long. I'd bet they'll come through that broken window pretty soon and they'll wish they hadn't locked themselves in.

I duck behind the throne and start cussing up a fucking storm when I realize that the demons blocked off the way back into the courthouse when they were redecorating. The entrance is full of massive chunks of concrete and stone with whole skeletons strung across them like a really morbid party banner. If I had twenty or thirty minutes, I could clear it out, but they'll be on us a lot sooner than that.

Anubis bounds up on the stack of rocks, looking for a way through. His frustrated growl rises over the sound of the demons at the doors. I spin Lucifer's sword in my hand, tying to figure out where else we can go. Let's face it, I've only seen this place in the movies, I have no idea where the exits are.

Boyscout groans, waking up and shifting his arms up around my neck. "Did I pass out?" he mumbles.

"Yeah, babe."

"Shit," 'Scout breathes. If he wasn't so close to my ear, I never would've heard him.

I turn on my heel and Azriel is right fuckin' there, right next to me. I fall back a step just because I wasn't expecting him, not like he startled me or anything, 'cause he didn't. His eyes are white like a corpse's that's been dead a while, like the color leached out of them. I know he can see, 'cause they're fixed right on me, but he doesn't have any pupils. The armor-clad angels fill in the space behind him. They're all blonde and blue-eyed, reminding me of Michael, but they're all a little bigger than he was in the shoulders and chests. It's a Nazi's fuckin' wet dream, the perfect coalition of blonde super soldiers.

I know I'll need both hands to fight these guys, but I don't dare put 'Scout down. If even one of them goes for him, he won't have the energy to fight them off. There's blood seeping through the wound on his chest onto the side of my ribcage and pec, enough of it that I'm afraid if we don't get him to a doctor soon that I'm really going to lose him.

Anubis drops to the floor next to me, approaching Azriel slowly with his hands extended, "Azriel, you know this is not your purpose. We are meant to shuttle lives to the afterlife, not force them there early. Think about this."

In a voice laced with the whispers of thousands, the angel of death says, "I'm not here to kill."

Behind him, the angels all get down on one knee, bowing their heads and crossing one fist over their chest in a sign that is clearly a vow of allegiance. Together, they state, "We serve the will of Michael. We serve the armor of Elohim."

John unlaces his legs from around my waist and I regretfully set him on the ground. I doubt these boys can lie, I mean, they're angels. He takes a wobbly step forward and I brace my flesh hand against his hip to make sure he doesn't just drop to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

"You came to help us?" 'Scout asks, way too trustingly for my taste.

The really creepy scythe disappears as Azriel releases it. He pushes back the thick, hooded cloak he's wearing so we can see his straight, white hair. It falls across his face, hanging almost to his belly button. "I have come to bring Gabriel's atrocities to light. My silence has weighed heavy on my heart for centuries and I am afraid I have waited too long to make things right."

"Do any of you speak modern language?" I know I'm really off subject, but seriously? What's wrong with 'I'm here to rat out Gabriel'?

Another window shatters and the hissing of demons fills the room. The battle angels stand and look to Azriel, weapons at the ready.

"We must go, now. Carry them to the encampment on the far side of the river," Azriel orders and flares out his wings.

They do the same. One grabs Anubis around the waist, which he really, REALLY doesn't like, if his snarl is anything to go by. Another gingerly picks up John, placing his arms behind his knees and back to hoist him, and two others come to grab my arms. I'm surprised when they actually manage to lift me.

Let's get something straight, flying doesn't bother me. I can go by plane, by helicopter, by a tiny prop puddle hopper, but daggling in the air with something other than an engine keeping me aloft, that's not so okay. Mostly, I'm just nervous that one of them is going to drop me.

We duck out of the busted window past the swarms of demons rushing in. They grab for us, but the angels not carrying someone cut them back. Fingers and arms fly off in every direction. When we get out into the city, my stomach drops into my feet. New York is destroyed. I knew it was. I vaguely remember it happening, but seeing my handiwork from the air is a whole new ballgame. The city is burning and nothing's moving on the ground that didn't crawl out of the bowels of Hell.

"My god…" I whisper.

The angel holding my right bicep says, "He's not listening, so praying to him won't do any good."

My anger flares at that. It wasn't what I'd meant, but he's still being a fucking ass. Part of me argues that I shouldn't piss off the guy holding me hundreds of feet off the ground, but I don't usually bother paying much attention to my rational side.

"You mean he's not listening to me because I'm one of them," I growl the statement.

The other angel shakes his head, "No, Jehovah is dead. Lucifer killed him before Michael cast him out of Heaven. The archangels have been running the overworld since the beginning of time."

That's… unexpected. My heart tightens at the idea. I've never been very religious, but Dad… Dad prayed every day. To know that his hopes and needs fell on deaf ears makes me sad. Thinking of him, I stare down at the destruction I've caused. I became exactly what he feared I would. I let him down.

There was a hoodoo priest in the forties who told my father that he should've killed me when he found me. I was six at the time, running around on a top-secret base in New Mexico playing ball. What were his exact words? Something like 'when the devil lands on your doorstep weak, bares his throat, you should cut it'. He was right. Bruttenholm was a fool… I was a fool to think that I can be anything other than what fate said I would be.

'Scout rolls his head back so he can look at me. With a weak smile that I think is meant to be reassuring, he reaches one hand out for me. I'm not close enough to touch him, but I give him a smirk for the effort. I don't understand how he can forgive everything I've done, everything I am. I know he does though. That look alone says, 'I'm tired and I need you'. Usually, when his gaze gets like that, we curl up on the chair or the bed and I pull him tight into the curve of my body, holding him until he drifts off.

We glide over the river and to the other bank. On a roof, several gods and goddesses come out of a tent that looks like its only big enough to fit two people comfortably. When they keep coming, I start to wonder if this is some kind of clown car trick. I open my mouth to make a joke when someone I actually recognize steps out of the tent.

"Holy shit, Torque!" I shout with a laugh.

The giant rhino runs over as we land, picking me up in a hug tight enough that I have a hard time breathing. Lazarus comes out of the tent next, grinning from ear to ear. Thankfully, he just shakes my left hand as Torque returns my feet to the ground.

"Good to see you, ol' boy."

"You too, man, you too." I crane my neck to watch Torque as he goes to Boyscout, warning him, "He's hurt, so you'd better not squeeze him like a tube of toothpaste, got it?"

Torque slows things down, going from an excited rush to an extremely gently half hug that John accepts with a smile. "What happened?" I hear Torque ask as he pulls away.

"Nothing that won't heal," John sighs.

Lazarus slaps a hand down on my shoulder and starts leading me towards the ridiculously tiny tent, "Glad you're feeling a bit more like yourself. We were getting concerned that you'd… well, glad you're feeling like yourself."

"Yeah… me too."

I have to duck to get through the entrance, but instead of a miniscule canvas room, we walk into a fuckin' palace. The vaulted ceiling is two, maybe three stories high, made of white marble that's veined with gold. The chandelier hanging from the ceiling is the size of my SUV. I look around in awe, marveling at how massive this room is. Dozens of life-sized marble statues line the edges of the room, each of them a different man or woman dressed in robes.

"Holy shit…" John says just behind me.

Took the words right out of my mouth.

"It's a wormhole of some sort that somebody attached to the tent. We're actually in Zeus's palace on Olympus," Lazarus explains with sweeping gestures at the elaborate entryway.

Athena's voice cuts through the room, "My father's taste has never been subtle."

She comes through an archway on the far wall. I don't really recognize the gods that come out with her, but judging by the bloodstained armor and looks of the man on her left, I'd say he's Aires. He's got his attention fixed on me, his glare promising a good fight. Not sure whether he wants to attack me because I look like I'd be a challenge, or if I'm a threat. I bet I'll figure it out soon enough.

Before it can go either way, Azriel moves through our group and bows to Athena, "I come as an ambassador of peace."

Aries snorts with laughter, "If the angels wanted us to believe that, they wouldn't have sent a death god." He turns to Athena, growling, "They're mocking us. We should declare war."

She shushes him with a wave of her hand, "You always want to declare war. I don't need your opinion in this matter. Rise Azriel, and explain to me why the angelic council would send an archangel to discuss terms with us."

He straightens up, "The council is not aware of my presence here. I come of my own free will to warn you of Gabriel's plans and misdeeds."

Athena's eyes flick towards us, but I think she's looking past us, at the troop of angels Azriel brought with him. They're lining the back of the room, the hands clasped in front of them. Most messengers don't bring a group of Navy SEAL equivalents along for the ride, so I get why she's a little nervous.

"So why do you bring Michael's battle angels with you?" she finally asks. "That is hardly a gesture of peace."

"They are loyal only to Michael. After Gabriel's betrayal, they became restless in Heaven. I knew their skills could be of use to you and your army."

After studying Azriel for several moments, Athena nods and walks back through the archway, "The war council is in progress. You may join us if you have something to add."

"She's a tough bird, isn't she?" Lazarus whistles as he trails behind the crowd.

"Gotta be, considering," I answer.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see John stumble. He's breathing a lot harder than he was a few minutes ago. I slip an arm around his waist to hold him up and he puts his hand on my shoulder to steady himself.

Anubis comes up beside us, examining Boyscout's wound, "He needs to see a healer."

"I'm okay," 'Scout blows him off in a way I'm very familiar with. Whenever he says 'I'm okay', he's about to fall over.

"He's right, 'Scout."

"I'll be fine until the meeting is over. We need to tell them what I know, what you know. We have to report in."

Stubborn little… "John," I try to sound angry, but it comes out more worried than anything else. "You can fill them in after you've been to-"

John cuts into my words, "But they may have made a plan of action by then, it's not a good idea to leave them in the dark."

His fucking FBI training comes out at the worst times. I'm not going to be able to argue with him, so I scoop him up and carry him towards the war council. He starts complaining instantly, going on about dignity and walking on his own, yada, yada. I've heard it all before.

I shut him up real easily, "You're going to fall on your face on your own, so I either carry you or we go find a healer. Those are the only choices you've got."

He closes his mouth, his eyes narrowing slightly. I can tell he's running it through his head, trying to figure out how to talk me into getting his way. He must not come up with anything good, 'cause he sighs and nods, sliding his arms around my neck.

We walk into the crammed room. Even though this hall is bigger than most people can imagine, there's only standing room left. The long table dominating the center of the room is surrounded by a colorful array of gods and goddesses. My eye sticks for a second on a woman with ink-black skin and a crap-load of arms. I know her from Indian carvings about death and retribution; the Hindu people call her Durga the demon fighter. Beside her is a man with blue skin and a cobra curled around his neck that I think might be Shiva.

I nod to Odin when he spots us, my gaze going to the blonde man next to him that I assume is his son, Thor. The hammer perched on the table in front of him is my only real clue. Next to them is another Norse god I don't recognize (or at least I assume he's Norse since he's decked out in the same kind of furs and leathers). He's got a stone hand like mine.

I recognize a few of the Egyptian and Grecian gods, but as my gaze strays around the table to the North and South American gods, I run out of names. There are giant birds and jaguars and bears and coyotes and all kinds of weirdness. Honestly, I don't deal much in American religion or monsters; they aren't nearly as active as their Eurasian cousins.

Before we all came in, there was a quiet hum of conversation, but now I can taste the tension making the air sour. Some direct their anger at Azriel, others at me. Azriel and Anubis slide towards the table while I linger in the back with Boyscout. I'm getting enough glares as it is, so I really don't want to be in the middle of this crowd. Anubis takes an empty chair next to a bronze man with a hawk's head. They exchange a few words as Azriel takes the head of the table near Athena.

Silence hangs over the room in a blanket. The animosity is so tangible it sets my teeth on edge. It's the powder keg effect. I feel like any second this crowd is going to erupt and kill whatever they can get their hands on. Michael's battle angels stayed outside, but I'm beginning to think that was a bad move on Azriel's part. He may need them very soon.

"I come to you, not as an emissary from Heaven, but as a rogue angel," Azriel starts. He doesn't need to command the attention of the room, 'cause he's already got it, but definitely not in a good way. "I come to tell you of Gabriel's betrayal against mankind, against Michael, and against God. Our Apocalypse, or end times, was never foretold by the Seers until after Jehovah was dead."

A hushed mummer moves through the room. My guess is that nobody else knew God was dead either. Even John tenses in my arms, a soft "What?" slipping out of his mouth.

"Gabriel made a pact with Lucifer, agreeing to let him out of Hell if, in return, Lucifer would destroy mankind. He's made the others believe that a final judgment of the humans tempered by fire and blood was the way our father wanted things to end."

"Ragnarok cannot be avoided. It will come no matter what actions we take," Odin shouts, slamming his fist on the table.

"So you want us to let Lucifer march his armies across the earth?" a massive grizzly bear asks.

Anubis stands up, "Kaiti is right. We can't let our creations be destroyed so needlessly."

"But no one can stop Ragnarok. It is fate, the will of the Norns!"

"Your Norns are not the only things weaving fate, you old fool," Athena snaps at Odin.

With a roar, Thor slaps his hands down on the table and starts shouting at Athena, which causes Aires to join the argument. In seconds, they're all screaming at each other. That's the powder keg thing I was talkin' about. If somebody doesn't reign in this meeting, there'll be blood on the very nice table.

"But Lucifer is dead," John raises his voice, but nobody hears him. "Hey! Lucifer is dead!" He gives me a distressed expression because he doesn't know what else to do.

I shoulder my way through the crowd and slam my stone fist into the table. A jagged crack splits the wood from one end to the other, following the grain. Me shouting at the top of my lungs is a little different than 'Scout, "SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

Everyone gets quiet, dozens of eyes turning to me. Good.

"I killed Lucifer while I was in Hell. I cut off his head. Are his armies still going to be an issue without a leader?"

Azriel is the one to answer me, "The serpent has many heads. Are you certain you killed him?"

I open my mouth, but 'Scout speaks before I get a chance to.

"No."

Wait, what? I look down at him with furrowed brows, "What'dya mean 'no'? You were there, you saw me do it."

"When I went to get the armor back, his skin was… it was empty," he says with a tremor of fear in his voice. "I couldn't tell you because I'd already lost you to Anung un Rama."

"Then we should prepare for war," Athena simply states.

I was so damn certain. How is he not dead? You cut off something's head, and it dies. Crap… So I fucked over all of New York, left my lover alone to deal with the hoards of Hell, and I didn't even kill Lucifer the way I was supposed to. Great. Could I be any more of a screw up? I grit my teeth, a vein jumping out on my temple.

My side feels wet. I glance down at John's pale face then down farther to his chest. The wound has opened up. He's bleeding massively. He makes a tiny sound in the back of his throat and tightens his grip on my arm as his eyes roll back in his head.

"Oh god, John!"

Anubis is on his feet in a blink, leaping onto the table and running to us. "I told him that the patch wouldn't hold!" he growls as he jumps down beside me.

I hear Lazarus frantically asking what's going on. He can't get to us from where he's trapped behind an elephant god I think might be Ganesh. Torque has a much easier time shoving his way to us.

Persephone practically appears at my side and takes my elbow to lead me off. I follow her, pressing my flesh hand to John's wound so he won't bleed to death before someone can help him. He's getting paler by the second. Persephone brings us into a room that smells like a hospital. The sterile scent frays my nerves. I hate hospitals.

I lay Boyscout on a cot with a thin white sheet on it that turns deep red almost instantly. Rolling up her sleeves, Persephone slaps my hand away and replaces it with her tiny palm. Her hand doesn't even cover the wound all the way. Blood pulses around the edges of her hand, spilling down John's sides. A memory flashes into my head of the werewolf attack and John laid out under the fluorescent lights of the garbage truck.

I take both of his hands into one of mine, pressing my lips against his knuckles. Something hard makes me tear my eyes away from Persephone's work. For a second, I swear I stop breathing. John is wearing the ring I bought for him. Several emotions fight for dominance in the pit of my stomach. On one hand, I'm thrilled that he's wearing it, on the other, I'm ashamed that he found them in the pocket of my coat instead of me proposing the way I should've.

Stuck in the tacky blood on his chest is my ring. I half-noticed it earlier, but I didn't realize exactly what it was. I very gingerly lift the necklace from around his neck, snapping the thick black cord he's got it hanging on and dropping the ring onto my palm. Wasn't so sure when I ordered it that it was going to fit, but it slides snugly onto my ring finger.

"You should've given it to me," John says, surprising me.

My grin is contagious and I watch as it spreads to 'Scout's face too. "Well you shouldn't have been digging in my pockets. I had a speech prepared and everything, but it's all ruined now," I tease him lightly.

"I'd like to hear it anyway."

My smile fades a little. "It's cheesy."

"I don't care," he insists. "I want to hear it."

"Seriously, it's too sappy to-"

"Hellboy," 'Scout chides me and I realize I'm not getting out of this. Never should've told him I had a speech.

I glance at Persephone and clear my throat, "Are you about done?"

She turns an annoyed look on me that reminds me of Liz, withdrawing her hands from John's chest. "I'm quite done. I'll leave you alone to recite your cheesy proposal," she says flatly. She'd be a good deadpan comedian if she ever decided to stop living in Hell.

She dips her hands in a basin of water to rinse off the blood and grabs a towel, drying as she walks. Our friends are standing at the door, but they shuffle off too once John sits up. I hope none of 'em gets the bright idea to listen at the door. There's no way I'm going to put up with the mockery I'm sure they'd come up with for what I'm about to say.

"The room is empty, your manhood is safe now," Boyscout jokes with a prod to my shoulder.

If I'm going to do this, I'm going to do it right damn it. I heave an over exaggerated sigh for 'Scout's benefit and take his left hand. Much to his surprise, I maneuver his ring off and get down on one knee.

"I know this is really late coming, but I want to seal our commitment with these rings… that really don't look as good as they did when I bought them," I gripe when I notice all the scratches they've acquired in the pocket of my coat. I knew they were getting a little banged up in there, but they're supposed to be platinum.

"Red…"

I refocus, running the spiel through my head before I start again. "John, I want to stand with you in good days and bad, in sickness and health, no matter what. I hope you'll accept this ring with my vow that I will never leave you alone again." Yeah, I added that last bit. I slip the ring back onto his finger and risk looking up at him, pleased to find him smiling. When he doesn't say anything, I awkwardly add, "And that's all I've got. I didn't say it was a long speech. So… what'dya say? I don't think they'll let me in a church, so it's kinda' just a formali-"

My floundering dies as 'Scout slides off the table and crashes his mouth into mine. I pull him tight, pressing my tongue to his lips and groaning as he opens for me. After a very long game of tonsil hockey, 'Scout pulls back with a stupid grin that I'd bet good money I'm wearing too.

"Of course," he whispers against my mouth. "I'll marry, commit, whatever you want to call it."

I chuckle and suck on his lower lip, "We don't live in Iowa or Connecticut or any of those good states, so I guess we'll have to settle with commitment. Or we could move."

He slides his legs on either side of my waist and I sit down to accommodate him. My hands trail lazily over his back as we resume kissing. The door's not locked and this place is full to the gills with people, so I doubt I'll be able to talk him into anything dirty, but right now, it's nice just to hold him. The blood hasn't even dried on his skin yet, so the close call is still literally fresh in my mind, and on my hands, and dripping down my side. I make a mental note to thank Persephone later.

Within a few minutes, 'Scout's enthusiasm is waning. He stops halfway through a trail of kisses that was moving down my neck and drops his head onto my shoulder. He's exhausted. I get to my feet, hoisting him into the hold I've been using all day to carry him around.

"Let's get you in bed," I croon against his ear, petting his hair with my flesh hand.

His whine is adorable, "But we just…" a yawn breaks through whatever he was going to say and it takes him a moment to remember to finish his sentence. "But we just got engaged. There should be sex."

"Babe, I don't think you've got enough blood left to get an erection."

"But," he mumbles.

"We'll have sex tomorrow if the world is still standing. Deal?"

John doesn't even answer me 'cause he's already dropped off. Poor guy. I step outside and start looking for someone who can help us find a bed that doesn't smell like sanitizer, my charge held tight enough against me that I can feel his heartbeat. The gentle throb eases me. I press my lips against John's forehead and carry him through the halls of Olympus.


	14. Escape

- HB

I stay curled up with John for hours. He sleeps soundly, not even twitching. A bomb could go off in our room right now, I doubt he'd stir. It's been an exhausting day for both of us and not just physically exhausting either. I wish I could sleep, but I know I won't. New York City burns in my mind. I killed millions…

A plan is forming in the back of my head. I can't fix the damage I've caused, but maybe I can keep the rest of the world from getting overrun. I have to close the gate I opened. If I can stop the flow of demons, maybe the gods can clear out the city and people can start rebuilding. It doesn't really solve the problem of Gabriel, but it's best to go one step at a time.

Only major flaw in my plan is that I've got to break the promise I just made to John. I have to leave him alone and there's a good chance I'm not coming back. I kiss his neck and wrap my arms more tightly around him, my chest aching from the thought. I'm tempted to leave my ring with him, but that would be like I was admitting I can't keep my promises.

John shifts in my arms and a soft sound slips from his mouth. It was some half-formed word that I think might've been "Red', but I'm not sure.

"I'm here, baby. Go back to sleep," I murmur against the side of his face.

After a minute or so, his breathing evens out and I know he's drifted off again. I gently run my fingers through his hair for a few minutes while I try to summon up the resolve to get out of bed. A long time goes by before I carefully unwind myself from around John. He whimpers faintly at the loss of my body heat, but I pull the blankets up around his chin and he quiets down. I grab my jacket and my shoes and ease out the door.

When the latch clicks home, I just stand there. I should get going, but I can't. Laying my head against the door, I strain my ears to catch any noises from 'Scout that signal him waking up. If he realizes I'm leaving, I can't go. I won't be able to make him understand why I need to do this. I lick my lips and take a deep breath as I realize that he hasn't noticed I'm gone. It's for the best… I think.

I yank my jacket on and start down the elaborate hallway, cussing at myself for what I'm doing to Boyscout. I can only imagine the reaction he'll have when he wakes up in the morning. Actually, knowing him the way I do, I can picture it pretty well. He won't be bothered at first, he'll just go looking for me. Only when he realizes that I'm not in the building will he start to freak out.

I stop at a chair to pull my boots on, yanking the laces hard enough that I snap one. "Great," I mutter, fooling with the frayed remnant for a moment before I tuck it into the top of the boot.

"I know what you're doing," the very British voice echoes off the marble walls. Lazarus steps out of an open doorway, a sad smirk on his face, "And you can't honestly think that you're going alone."

I finish lacing up my other boot and prop my elbows on my knees, giving him a long, hard look. "You should stay here."

"Ah, but I'm the perfect companion for a suicide mission."

My gaze goes to the polished floor. There are no tiles; it seems like one solid piece of marble. Must've come from one hell of a quarry. Lazarus crouches down directly in my line of sight, interrupting my scrutiny of the floor.

"If you die while trying to commit a noble act, you're still dead. Don't be a nutter."

I arch my brow, "Nutter?"

"A nutcase, a loon, a crazy person… you know, for being born in England, you really don't know much," he jokes with a smile. Lazarus studies me and sighs, his smile vanishing, "You're still going though, aren't you?"

"Yeah."

"Alright, let me fetch my swords and we'll be on our way," he says as he gets to his feet.

Despite the situation, I find myself smiling as I watch him go. There aren't too many people that will march into a certain-death situation with you. I know he'll survive no matter what, but Lazarus still feels pain when he gets hurt and he's risking a hell of a lot considering that resurrection is not a good thing when there are millions of demons ready to keep eating you.

Anubis speaks beside me, making me yank back my stone fist in preparation to hit him, "Shadows have ears, you know."

"Fuck! Don't do that!" I shout. As my blood pressure returns to normal, I say, "Figured the ears would be asleep by now. Although, I guess they're big enough that a mouse fart would wake you up."

He rolls his eyes at the statement, not even bothering to comment on it, "You'll need a ride across the river."

"So? You offering?"

"I might be."

"What's with you people? If you all know I'm doing something really fucking stupid, why do you want to come with me?"

Anubis moves around me and into the light so I can see that he's already decked out in full armor, the spear-thing he uses is strapped on his back. "Well," he starts, his ears flicking towards the door off to our right as Lazarus comes back through it. "When a friend is willing to sacrifice himself to make things right with the world, I figure I should make sure he's got enough backup to get the job done."

No surprise, but behind Lazarus is Torque. I guess I'm going to have a lot of backup. "You're all idiots," I say, only partially meaning it.

"Better to face something dodgy than to run from it, I always say," Lazarus states.

Torque is quick with an answer (well, quick for Torque), "That's because you'll just get back up no matter what happens. The rest of us have to heal the normal way."

"You tell your wife you're leaving?" I ask Lazarus, knowing there's no way he woke Yvette up for anything. I've heard what happens when someone gets her out of bed before she's ready.

"Are you kidding? Did you tell yours?"

I laugh but it's forced.

"Right," Anubis draws out the word. "We should probably go."

xxxxxxxxxxxx

We come out of the shadows in an empty subway tunnel. The emergency lighting is still working, for which I'm grateful. I didn't think to bring a flashlight. It takes me a few minutes to get my bearings, but I figure out that we're in a redline tunnel near Canal street, a long way from the gate.

"This is as close as you could get us?" I grunt as I start walking.

Anubis snaps at me, "If you didn't want to be trampled by demons the moment we stepped into the open, then yes."

Down here, you almost can't tell that there's something wrong. Except for the bloody station platform we pass, everything is the way it's always been: filthy and infested with rats. I've spent so much damn time chasing stuff around these tunnels that I know them better than the people that run the trains. The boarded up areas from the early years of the city are not as familiar to me, but I can find them and get into them. Half the old tunnels are flooded with water anyway, so it limits what paths we can take.

I cut into a service tunnel, stepping over a half-eaten ribcage I don't want to give much thought to. It's possible it was some bum that got lost and eaten by rats, but I doubt it. Lazarus and Anubis step over the body nimbly, while Torque just steps on it. He makes a disgusted sound and scrapes off the bottom of his foot with his sledgehammer.

"Yeah, watch out for the corpse," I quip darkly.

"It's a little late."

The lights must be out of juice in this area. The farther we go from the platform, the less I can see. "Fuck," I hiss and dig through my pockets in the hopes that I have a flare or a glow stick or something.

I can feel Anubis get rigid beside me. He leans forward into the darkness and whispers, "Does anyone else hear the scraping sound?"

"I do," is Torque's deep, almost nervous reply.

"It's probably just rats. They're as big as dogs down here," I tell them with a little crow of victory as my fingers close on a magnesium flare. "They'll take off when I light this baby."

I turn my eyes away as I ignite the flare so I'm not blinded when it goes off. The burn starts white and then settles into the vivid orange glow that lights up the tunnel like a sunset. The light reflects off of eyes and wet blood. A dozen or so demons screech and cluster more tightly around whatever they're eating, their narrow features pulled back to show rows and rows of teeth.

They scatter as we approach, two of them working together to drag the lower half of a man up one of the walls and into a pipe. The left foot is dangling by a thin group of tendons that snap as it gets caught on the edge of the metal. It falls to the ground with a wet 'thump'.

"That was disturbing," Lazarus says after the silence drags on awhile.

My flare's not going to last long, so I keep moving. I've only got two others in my pocket and we need to get into an area that's still lit. The others follow me a bit more tentatively, all of them watching the pipe for any signs of the demons. Torque takes a few swings at the edges of the metal, crumpling it in on itself. When he's satisfied they're not going to get out behind us, he catches up.

I stop at an intersection of two tunnels, swinging the flare slowly from one to the other. As I pass over the far left tunnel, imps scatter out of the light just like the rats used to do. Seems like a good bet. The flare starts to sputter in my hand. I reach into my jacket to grab another just as it goes out.

- John

There's shouting out in the hall. I sit up, still too groggy to separate out the voices and figure out what they're saying. "Red," I mumble, reaching a hand back to shake him awake, but my hand doesn't touch anything but empty sheets.

A little spike of adrenaline hits me and sparks some life in my brain. I turn to search the empty room. His clothes and shoes are gone. I don't get much of a chance to wonder where he is because the door to the room slams open and a goddess I'm not familiar with fills the frame. Her alarm is evident in her face as well as her voice.

"The angels are lifting one of the bridges from the water. Athena wants everyone outside now!"

My heart leaps into full-speed. I scramble out of bed and search the room for my things. I'm wearing my blue jeans, but I can't find my shoes. Responding to my panic, the armor snaps into place. It pretty much eliminates the need for anything else. My sword slides down onto my palm as I dart out into the crowded hallway.

I follow the rush of the masses out of Zeus's palace and into a starless night. In minutes, I'm out on the dark cement of the Brooklyn Bridge, surrounded by creatures far more powerful than I could ever hope to be. We all watch the aerial battle going on above the surface of the river. Gabriel is hovering near the center of where the bridge used to be, his hands raised, and on either side of him are Uriel and another angel I'm guessing might be Raphael.

Gabriel isn't fighting, but the other angels are knocking down every attack we send their way. The handful of gods that can fly are barreling towards them, firing arrows, throwing spears and bolts of lightning. Uriel is a better shot than they are. The flaming arrows that fly from his bow strike the other arrows out of the air and keep going. Several sink into a dragon-like creature with colorful plumage that drops out of the sky.

The god I saw yesterday with the flying stag gets met by Raphael, who takes out the stags legs with a heavy blow from his golden shield. The animal bellows loud enough for everyone to hear, but keeps flying. The god on its back knocks away Raphael's spear with his sword.

While they're engaged, a god with four arms and a chariot drawn by four horses makes a run at Gabriel. Before he can reach him, Uriel whirls and rapidly fires a half-dozen arrows into the god's back. Several more sink into the horses' flanks, making them go wild. The horses all try to go in different directions, bucking and thrashing as the arrows keep raining down on them.

The i-beam of the chariot snaps from the strain, pitching the god and his weapons into the air. He manages to grab one of the horses on the way down, barely catching the animal's hoof. Panicked, the flying horse lashes out and kicks its master in the head. He takes the long fall that the others did.

Water rushes off of the large pieces of bridge as they lift out of the river. On the other side, scores of demons are gathering. Some don't wait until the pieces are in their proper places to rush across. They jump from one chunk of bridge to the next, bringing the roiling sky with them. The smoke and fire above the city spreads to our bank just as the masses of demons reach the front line.

Flesh slams against shield and sword with a sound I can feel in my chest. I'm several rows back from the front, but it's only seconds before they reach me. They crawl over the front line, too numerous to kill. With every demon that hits the ground three more take its place. I scream and shove my sword into a dark smear of mouth that comes flying at me. The demon drops at my feet, gurgling.

The quarters are tight. I get jostled more than once as a bigger god throws his weight into his attack. I've only seen this kind of battle in the movies. I try to keep my sword tight to my side and keep my thrusts controlled so I don't hit anyone I'm not meant to. The battle is more chaos than anything. Shouts and screams and the crunch of bone and wet sound of separating flesh fill my ears. My vision narrows to the pale, hideous creatures that dive for me one after another. I cut them down as fast I as I can, my arm already aching from the effort.

A massive demon like the one Hellboy was riding reaches the front line with a bellow I can feel more than hear. Its massive mouth closes on a jaguar adorned in heavy lengths of turquoise and gold jewelry. The big cat claws desperately at the demon's face as he's being swallowed. Throwing its head back, the demon gulps the spotted cat down and starts looking for its next meal.

An opening clears and the thing sets its empty eye sockets on me. A spear glances off its shoulder as it studies me, which it doesn't notice. I slash through a lesser demon that grabs for my helmet, taking several steps back into the armies to try and shake the thing's gaze.

The mount bellows again and charges me, liquid fire flowing down the sides of its face as it runs. I take in a gasp of breath and tense. It crushes several of the imps under foot as it races towards me. Another god takes a swipe at the beast with a long curved blade. Blood explodes out of its flank, but it doesn't stop.

I leap straight up as it reaches me, coming down on the demon's back. It nearly throws me when it careens into a retaining wall. I grab hold of one of its spines and shove my sword into the back of its neck. Heat pours off the black blood that spills out of it.

The demon throws its head up and a whip-like tail slices through the air towards me. I manage to duck it the first time it comes by, but it's very agile, changing direction in a heartbeat. The thick appendage slams into my side, knocking me off my perch.

I land hard and keep rolling, knowing that thing is looking to swallow me. When I get my feet under me, it's almost on top of me already. A long, grey tongue darts out of its mouth and wraps around my sword arm. I dig my feet in against the pull. My vision is taken up by the demon's massive, gaping maw. Deep in its throat, I can see fire burning.

My feet start to slide across the cement as the demon shifts its weight back. Breathing in ragged pants, I scrabble at the thick, slimy piece of flesh wound around me. I can't get a good grip on it. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a goddess running my way, but she's not going to get to me fast enough.

The armor on my other arm shifts and changes, the gauntlet growing sharp edges. I grab the tongue higher up and just twist my hand. The flesh rips with a loud pop, sending me stumbling back onto my ass. Roaring, the demon throws its head from side to side, slinging blood and fire in every direction.

A splatter heads straight for me. I throw up my arm instinctually, the armor spreading to become a shield. The blood hits the metal with a hiss like water hitting a hot skillet. I get up and make the shield into a secondary sword, sprinting for the demon before it can recover. I stick both blades into the side of its neck and use my momentum to slide underneath its head, dragging the swords from one side to the other. Blood pours onto the concrete in a fountain, dark smoke curling into the air as it scorches the ground.

I don't wait for it to fall, I know it's dead. I sling the blood from my blades and launch back into the fray with a scream.

- HB

When a layer of bone replaces the rock floor, I know we're close. The smell of decaying flesh fills my nostrils, making me flex my stone hand involuntarily. We're a few miles beneath the city now, in natural caverns carved by water and time. A few of the old subway tracks have fallen in on these caves, which is part of the reason why the deepest tunnels have been sealed off. Plus, a number of creepy-crawlies came out of these caverns when the miners found them in the early fifties. I wasn't old enough to get dispatched then, but I heard about it for years afterwards. The horror stories of New York's underbelly were the talk of the Bureau for a long time.

The number of demons has thinned considerably, making our travel much easier. We haven't run across a reason for them to flee in mass numbers, but I'm keeping my eyes peeled. I suspect the city is just much more exciting than being stuck by the gate.

Anubis has taken the lead since my flares ran out, his eyes much keener in the dark than mine are. There's a faint, red glow here that has to be coming from the gate. It illuminates the litter of bones in an eerie way that makes it look like the bones are crawling with some kind of shadowy vermin. As the light gets better, and one of the little bastards tries to crawl up my pant leg, I realize that the bones are crawling with vermin.

They're not rats, but I have no idea what the fuck they are. I bat the one off my leg before I get a good look at it. My fingers don't come in contact with fur, just warm flesh. Mostly, they keep to the bones, gnawing at what little meat is left. Their tiny eyes glimmer yellow in the light coming from the end of the tunnel.

"Well, that's foul," Lazarus mutters as he picks his way through the bones.

I flick one of the little creatures off of Anubis's back and mention, "My cats would love it down here."

The way the tunnel curves, all we can see of the next room is the light itself. As we come to the edge, Anubis puts his hand out, motioning for us to stop. He crouches low and peers around the corner into the cavern beyond.

Quietly sliding the blade from his back, Anubis whispers back at us, "There are a few of the bigger demons nesting near the gate, six of them from what I can see."

I slide as close to the entrance as I can, leaning over Anubis so I can see in. The gate and the room are almost as I remember them. When we marched through the first time, there were fewer dead bodies. The gate itself is a massive, curved piece of stone that is split down the center.

I can feel the heat of Hell's fire even from across the room. Stretching out on the other side of the gate is a pathway that rises out of a lake of magma. The sides are sheer. Memories of demons pushing each other off that edge as they jockeyed for position flash to mind. I can't remember much of the march out of Hell, for which I'm grateful, but I remember that winding, narrow road.

There are some large demons curled up near the gate. They're very serpentine, which is probably why they decided to make a den near the heat of the magma. The thick, black scales catch the light as they slide and shift in their nest of bones. One lifts its arrow-shaped head and yawns while another gulps down a body it has twisted in its coils. It's hard for me to judge their length without one of them stretched out, but each one is as big around as a tractor tire. Watching these giant demons, I realize for the first time since we left that I forgot to bring Lucifer's sword. It really would've been helpful.

I pull my head back and huddle with my team, "Alright, I want to do this all at once so we can catch them off guard. Torque, you take the two on the far right, but make sure you deal the blow to the head or they won't go down. Anubis, you and Lazarus take care of the two on the left. Leave the big boy that's eating for last 'cause he'll be slower anyway. I'll take the others."

They all nod in agreement and we ease around the corner in a tight group. The moment the first demon spots us, we break into a run. Torque leaps into the air, coming down on the closest demon with a thud and crunch. The ground spikes up beneath the snake's head as Torque's hammer comes down on top of it, crushing it like a melon in between.

One of the serpents whips across the floor towards me. I yank back my stone hand as it gets close, but a massive tremor shakes the entire room. Dust and small bits of stone shower us from the ceiling. I manage to stay on my feet, but I see Anubis crouch down to steady himself. I look to Torque, thinking it was his powers that caused it.

"What the fuck, was that you?" I shout.

He shakes his head, horn whipping through the air, "No."

Another tremor jolts the ground and the serpents that are left slither away with fearful screeches. I brush some of the dust off the shoulders of my jacket and look back at the gate in time to see the narrow bridge collapsing into the lake of magma. A shape emerges from the lake right in front of the door, blocking almost all of the light that was spilling in. I stare at the shape, unable to figure out what it is.

"Shut the bloody door!" Lazarus screams, giving me a solid shove to my back to get me moving.

I run to the keyholes, pushing my stone hand into the lock. No matter how hard I try to twist it, the lock turns slowly. When I yank my hand free, the door on that side starts to slide across the opening. As I run to the other side, a clawed hand shoves through the doorway to grab at me. It's so big that it breaks off some of the stone as it pushes its way in. I tuck into a roll, but one of the talons pins my coat to the floor. My roll stops short with a painful jerk on my shoulders.

I shrug out of the coat. It's a shame to lose it, but I've got to stop whatever is trying to enter our world. I push my key into the second lock. Torque and Anubis are on the far side, shoving at the door to get it to shut faster. The scaled hand slides back into Hell, leaving gouges deep enough for a grown man to fall into.

The lock clicks and the second door starts its achingly slow path across the gateway. I shove my shoulder against the edge, putting every bit of my weight and strength into it, but I swear it doesn't move any faster. The first door bangs into place and Torque comes across to help me.

A black shadow ripples across the opening and a cackling laugh booms through the room, "Ah, my would-be assassin. So pleasant to see you again." The voice is nothing like Lucifer's tenor, it's deep and loud with a growl to it that's like stone grinding on stone, but I know it's him. He's become something else.

The doors slide closer, the light escaping from Hell thinning into just a sliver before it disappears entirely. I start to breathe a sigh of relief when both doors explode into the room in dozens of pieces. A serpentine head pushes past what rock is left, barely able to squeeze through the massive doorway.

One giant, red eye fixes on me and Lucifer hisses, "You will suffer, lesser."

The rock above and below the gate fractures and crumbles as Lucifer forces his claws in just beneath his head. He scrapes the rock away, making space for another head to wriggle into the opening. I back up as the room starts collapsing, not even sure I'll be able to outrun the cave in. Lazarus and Torque are already running for the tunnels.

Anubis grabs my arm, shouting, "We have to go! He's going to bring the subway down on our heads!"

- John

The demons and gods are spread out across the base of the bridge, making it easier to spot my enemies before they get to me. I've lost count of how many I've killed. The hoard coming towards us is still thicker than the crowd waiting for the Thanksgiving Day parade, so I guess it's the gods that have thinned out. This close fight has made it nearly impossible for most of them to use their power. They've been limited to hand-to-hand weapons.

I'm not sure whether it's the armor, or my survival instincts, but I'm honestly surprised that I've lasted this long. I never would've thought I could do something like this. In most battles, I'm the first one to get thrown aside or knocked unconscious, as is made evident by Red's refusal to acknowledge me as a capable fighter.

Speaking of which, I still haven't seen Red since this struggle began. I keep expecting to spot him in the crowd, that he'd somehow gotten out of bed before me and joined the gods going to help. I try not to let worry cloud my judgment. I have to stay focused on the battle or I'll end up underneath a pile of imps that want to eat me alive.

I slash open one demon's belly as it lunges in for me, cutting off another's head with the back swing. Even though I could fly out of this, I stick to the ground. Enough gods have already tried their hand at taking out the archangels so I doubt I'd do much better. The angels are just hovering there above the bridge, watching the fight with indifference. No one has attacked them in almost an hour, but they haven't gone after us either. I guess they figure that the demons will overwhelm us eventually.

The ground starts to vibrate under my feet. I pause and whip my head around to see if there's another mount thumping its way towards me. They're the only thing I've encounter so far that's heavy enough to shake the bridge. The only thing near me is imps and a small handful of the large, heavyset demons with under-bites.

The bridge shudders again, but this time I hear a loud rumble with it. I look towards Manhattan as several buildings collapse. A dark shape emerges from the dust, spreading red leather wings that cover a city block. Seven long, skinny necks rise like a nest of snakes above the skyline, all but one of them topped with a triangular head that breathes smoke. The neck nearest to the middle ends in a cauterized, black stump. The six remaining heads roar in unison, the wings flexing wide enough to blot out the sky.

"Dear god," I breathe.

All around me, every god from every religion has a different name for the dragon. I hear "Apophis" and "Tiamat" and "Jormungand", each name whispered with as much reverence and fear as the last. The demons, however, let out a feral cheer and attack us with renewed vigor.

I stumble back as a dozen of them attack me at once. Their claws fall on my armor and their teeth snap in my face. I grab one by the neck and rip him off of me, throwing him into the hoard. Using my two swords like a pair of sheers, I move each one in a different direction, catching two imps in the middle. Both fall in uneven halves to the cement.

I look up to find that most of the gods are running. I'm one of the only ones left fighting. I turn to follow them, but I'm surrounded by imps. If I pull out my wings, they'll rip me to shreds before I can take off. All I can do is keep killing them until they drag me down.

My shouts are hoarse as I keep stabbing and slashing. I try to walk toward the edge of the bridge, but they're too numerous. I can't take a step in any direction. They jump on my back, hands scrabbling against the seams of the armor. As more leap onto my legs and grab my arms, I fall to my knees.

The first time I hear the shout, I swear I'm hallucinating, but the second time it's much louder, much closer, "John!"

"I'm here!" I scream, my voice barely rising above the angry chatter of the imps.

I push and grab at them, trying to get them off of my helmet so I can see. A flash of red shows through their pale, speckled bodies and then HB's stone hand pushes through them to grab my waist. He yanks me out from under the pile. Torque and Anubis are clearing the area around us and Lazarus is hacking a path in the direction of Brooklyn. The moment I'm clear, we all run as fast and as hard as we can.


	15. War

A very belated thank you to Mary Kroll for betaing this chapter and for helping me edit the previous chapters! She's been wonderful.

- John

There are more survivors than I'd thought. We catch up to the other gods almost eight blocks away from the Brooklyn Bridge. They're split into their respective religions, the Norse clustered together with Odin at their head, the Greek standing behind Athena, the Hindi behind Shiva, and so on. At first, I think they might be drawing up new plans, but as we get closer, I realize that they're arguing. Arguing isn't quite the right word for it. They're screaming at each other.

From what I can discern, some want to stay and fight, but most of them are screaming that Earth is lost. They're going to abandon mankind. The black-eyed god Ek Chuah is the loudest advocate for leaving. His booming voice is followed by hundreds of affirmative noises as he shouts that they should begin fresh on a new planet, that there's nothing worth saving here.

On the other hand, Odin and his son Thor are yelling that the gods must stand by their creations to the bitter end. Athena seems to agree with Odin, but it's hard to tell exactly what any of them are saying.

"They can't leave," Lazarus says. "There are billions of people on this planet. They might not all be innocent, but they don't deserve the fate they're leaving them to."

My stomach is churning. If the gods flee, I don't know what we'll do. We can't fight all of Hell with a handful of people. We need to use the strength of the gods to its greatest extent, getting them out of the tightly clustered battlefield and tapping their potential. Without that, the face of the Earth will be swarming with demons. I grab Red's arm, not sure what we can do.

Anubis moves forward into the crowd. He seems to grow taller as he pushes through them, until he's towering over even the giants. At the middle of the argument, he opens his mouth and lets out a growled shout far louder than any other voice, "Cowards!"

Silence spreads through the gods as Anubis continues to grow. Those closest to him actually fall back several steps. When he's almost double the height of Odin or HB, he finally stops. His snarl flashes teeth as long as my arm. I know it's just an illusion, but I feel a shiver race down my spine.

"You're all cowards!" Anubis snaps, lunging towards the Mayan gods for emphasis. Most of them stumble against each other to get farther away from him. "When Hell breaks loose, overwhelming your people, you tuck your tails and run. The being who has fought hardest to save the humans is a demon! His actions put yours to shame," he motions at Red.

HB stiffens a little as the attention falls on him. I know he doesn't agree with what Anubis is saying. He probably thinks that his actions have caused all of this death. There's no doubt that a good number of these gods think the same thing.

"Don't do me any favors," Red murmurs, his gaze stuck on Anubis.

With the gods' attention comes backlash. The first one to start yelling is an Egyptian goddess with a lion's head, "Him? He's part of the problem!"

Her words don't get a chance to settle before others are shouting too. "He led the hoards!"

"His arrival brought Hell out-"

"He opened the gates!"

Anubis's lips curl up and his ears go flat against his head. His roar is so loud that my ears start ringing, "Enough!" Only once they've stuttered into silence does he continue, "There are eleven keys to the underworld in our possession. Which of you marched back into that city to try and close the gate?"

I look over at Red in shock, my fingers tightening on his arm. "Is that where you were?"

"Yeah," he says at his feet.

Walking through that city was a nightmare, an insanely risky endeavor that Anubis and I were lucky to come out of alive. Red knew his chances of surviving were slim, that's why he didn't wake me up, why he left on his own. He must feel the weight of his guilt more than I realized.

I press my face against his side, wanting to ease him, but not knowing how. His arm comes up around my shoulders and he brushes my forehead with his lips.

His whisper is so quiet I almost miss it, "I'm sorry."

"For what?" I ask as I turn my face up to him.

"For leaving you after I said I wouldn't."

Before I can even think of a good answer, Anubis is talking again. His voice almost incomprehensible through the rolling growl he can't seem to control, "He went in there to save your people, to save mankind because their own gods will not."

As his words sink in, those who were shouting the loudest to leave are cut down by embarrassment. Torque and Anubis flick their ears in the direction we came from. Other gods lift their heads and turn that way, but only those with large ears. I know exactly what they're listening to, the scratching of thousands of claws on cement and the screeches and howls of thousands of voices. The hoard will be on us in minutes.

I take advantage of the humbled silence Anubis has created and step forward, "If we hone their numbers down so we can take on a handful of them at a time, we would be able to destroy them without getting overrun. Surely one of you can make a wall of some kind, like what Persephone can do with the thorns." I point at the Eastern bank, towards the navy yard, and then over at the Western bank. "If we form the wall from one side of Brooklyn to the other with a hole in the middle, we can flush them down Flatbush Avenue. It's not that far, only about half a mile of wall if you angle it."

For a heartbeat, they all look at me like I'm a moron, and then Athena says, "He's right."

Her battle plans grow on top of mine, her experience with tactics far exceeding my handful of years training at Quantico. She lays things out quickly and precisely and the gods and goddesses of the world move to get into position. Athena grabs my arm before I can leave to join the others.

"I want you to help me lead the troops. Take a position on top of one of the buildings or fly if you so chose," she orders, offering me a small gold medallion on a chain. "They will all hear you if you wear this."

I blink at her, dumbfounded. "Why me? They didn't listen to me a minute ago. Why would they when I'm giving orders?"

Red and Torque stop and turn, watching the exchange. I can tell from Red's slight scowl that he doesn't like what he's hearing. If I'm leading any kind of troops, I'm a target.

Athena slips the pendent over my head, "Your commands come from me, that should be good enough for them. As far as why I've chosen you, you're intelligent and have a squadron of battle angels to guard you." As she speaks, she shoves a finger at Michael's angels. They must've been standing at the edge of the crowd, because I didn't notice them until the others had walked off.

"Like they did a hell of a lot of good five minutes ago," Red growls. "Where the fuck were they when John was about to get ripped apart?"

The one standing roughly in the center of the group answers without a drop of emotion, "We were given no order to act."

"You need orders to save him?"

I put a hand on Red's chest, moving between him and the winged group. He's positively bristling and I don't want him to launch himself at them. The demonic legion will be on us in moments so we're going to need his attention focused on that.

The angel who spoke before continues to answer for the group. I guess he's the squad leader equivalent. "Michael never wanted us to act without order. He didn't want us getting in the way."

Red inhales to bark out something else and I move my hand to his mouth to stop him. His little grunt of surprise and annoyance vibrates my fingertips.

"What is your name?" I ask the angel.

"Verstael, my lord."

"Okay, Verstael, I want you and your angels to stick close to me and guard my back."

All twelve of them bow slightly as Verstael agrees, "Yes, my lord."

We don't have time for me to coerce him into calling me John, so I'll have to make do with 'my lord', as weird as it is. I can hear the demons now, their screeching and moaning and shouting is getting very close. Just a few yards away from us, walls of ice crawl up the sides of the buildings, filling the streets like the world's fastest glacier. They rise above the line of the buildings, merging into one solid mass of opaque blue. They rise until they're ten or twelve stories high. An unhappy shriek overwhelms all other sounds as the approaching hoard finds its path blocked. I glance behind us to the florist shop where Freya is hiding. She says she can keep those walls up for days if need be. I hope she lasts that long.

Athena slides a helm with a tall plume of red feathers onto her head and gives me one final order, "Watch out for the lightning." She runs off to join the others.

We're out of time. I wind both my arms around HB's neck, standing on tiptoe so I can reach, and press my mouth to his. The kiss is short, but passionate, filled with my fear and my desperate hope that we'll get through this. His stone hand curls possessively around my back, making it difficult to pull away. Red's tongue slides wetly against mine and I swear I can feel his desperation too. I wish we could stretch this moment to make it more than it is.

I regretfully twist out of his hold with a breathy "Be safe" as I take off. Red's eyes follow me into the air, his features creased with worry. I'm not quite past the highest point of the ice wall when he shouts, "I expect you home for dinner."

The joke makes a half-formed smile slide onto my face, but it's gone the moment I see what's on the other side of the wall. The streets between the ice and the bridge are jammed with pale, writhing bodies and beyond that, at the river's edge in Manhattan, is Lucifer. He has one massive foot in the water, steam curling up from around his claws. The river is literally evaporating where he's touching it. He doesn't seem to be moving forward, just standing there with his six remaining heads aiming towards us.

I scan the sky, but the archangels are nowhere to be seen. The fiery clouds from above the city have spread across the water and are now colliding with coal-grey clouds that are bursting with lightning. Diving in and out of the newly formed storm are large golden birds called Skylords. They're from the great plains of America herself, creatures that can create storms great enough to destroy civilizations.

On the tallest building in the area is Thor. He holds his hammer skyward, assisting the giant golden birds with their storm. White-blue bolts of electricity arc from his hammer into the sky and back down again. Wherever they hit, blackened, fleshy craters appear in the masses. Another storm god with golden skin is beside him. He presses his hands together and brings them apart, lightning twisting between his fingers. When he slaps them back together, the lighting falls to the ground and thunder booms.

Gods with bows and arrows are still climbing into their respective places on top of the roofs surrounding Lucifer's army. I hear Athena's echoing cry of "Fire!" just before arrows fly into the hoards in waves. The demons fall in hundreds, but are replaced by thousands. Their leading edge finally reaches the unyielding wall of ice, crashing against it like the surf breaking against a cliff. Many try to scrabble up the slick surface with their claws, others just follow the line of ice to a small gap. Just as I suspected, they move towards the gap in the ice like moths towards fire. They can see it above the buildings and think they'll be able to get through, but they're headed to where our heavy hitters are waiting.

The ground troops are comprised of the biggest and strongest of our numbers. They line the small opening through the ice four rows thick, gods like Torque and the massive bear-god Kaiti, Odin and the Hindu goddess Durga, her many arms gripping many weapons. Red is at their core, surrounded by war gods and giants. I see him roll his shoulders as the demons scramble towards them. Rain starts falling from the heavy clouds as the first of the hoard reaches the gap in the ice.

I tuck my wings and dive a little closer, my battle angels following the move as tightly as they can without running into me. The water soaks into my feathers, making me heavy and cold. The only weight I can shed is my armor. I force it back into the disk so I can stay aloft more easily. I circle the buildings, studying the masses of demons. The head of the army is comprised almost entirely of imps, but the larger monstrosities are not far behind them. Even bigger things are lumbering off the Brooklyn Bridge. Giant, hulking mounds of muscle that stand as tall as a city bus, I can tell they're going to give us trouble.

"Target the giants," I shout at Thor, pointing at the base of the bridge.

My voice doesn't sound any louder to me than it does normally, but Thor looks right at me and nods, aiming his massive hammer at the bridge. Streaks of lightning crackle through the air, slamming into the masses still crawling off the bridge. Imps go flying and are reduced to blackened corpses in an instant.

Only one of the larger demons gets hit in the first stream of electricity and he doesn't go down. The bolt makes a direct hit on his shoulder, but it's about as effective as using a taser gun on an elephant. Though it burns his flesh, it just makes him mad. He charges through the imps with a bellow, crushing the smaller creatures underfoot.

Both Thor and the golden god I think might be called Indra focus their power on the charging behemoth. I circle the area, watching with growing despair as strike after strike hit the creature. He continues his charge down Flatbush Ave, taking out light posts, cars, and anything else in his way.

"There's a very large demon headed your way," I advise the heavy-hitters at the gateway.

Durga breaks away from the line. Moving as smoothly as if she were dancing, she spins her eight blades around her body and cuts a path through the crushing hoard of imps. After she has slaughtered several dozen, they back away from her, leaving a ring soaked in blood right in the path of the charging demon.

I shift my weight back so I can hover, holding my breath as I watch the hulking monstrosity getting closer and closer to this tiny goddess. "Isn't anyone else going to help her?" I shout at the defensive line. Only problem with this amulet is that it only goes one way. If they answer me, I can't hear them.

With a cryptic smile I can barely see from the air, Durga waits until the demon is almost on top of her before she attacks. She rolls her body around the demon's hippo-thick legs, all of her blades slashing into his flesh with a speed that no human eye could follow. The demon collapses on his knees in a fountain of blood and Durga leaps nimbly onto his back, running up his spine and leaping off. A glimmering strand of metal whips out behind her. As she falls, she tucks into a rapid flip that wraps the metal around the giant's throat.

Once on the ground, she gives the line a tug and it rips through the demon's thick flesh. The head hangs on for a moment, the creature's mouth working slowly like it can't quite figure out that it's dead, and then the flesh separates. Durga puts a curved sword away and catches the head in her empty hand, hoisting it into the air with a battle cry that sends all the nearby imps running.

They don't stay gone long.

Durga runs back for the line as the hoards close in around her. The others separate to let her in, HB smashing his stone fist into the group of imps on her tail. The masses of demons continue to throw themselves at the living wall even though they have to climb over mountains of their dead to get to the gods standing between them and the rest of the world. Imps do seem to have some sense of fear, but I suppose the drive of finding more human flesh to eat is more extreme than their desire to survive.

Pumping my wings hard, I rise into the air so I can get a better view. The electric ozone makes the hairs on my arms stand on end, probably the hair on my head too. I can hear the sizzle of the storm above me. The other angels don't follow me this far up.

From up here, I can see over the rise of the bridge to the other side. The demons go on for miles. Even the streets on Manhattan around the entrance to the bridge are crammed full of them. They fill the area around Lucifer's feet and are shoulder to shoulder in Battery Park. Even if we fight these things for weeks, I don't think we can kill them all. We'll all be falling over from exhaustion before we can wear their numbers down.

"We're going to need to come up with a different tactic," I say, more to myself than anyone else. I suppose the necklace works more effectively than I gave it credit for.

Athena's voice is right beside me, though I know she's back on the ground. She must have several of these amulets floating around. "What do you see?"

"There's no end to them."

One of the Skylords darts past me with a scream, directing more lightning into the demonic army. I throw my arms across my face as the bolt passes through the air a few yards from me. The heat is searing. It's as hot as standing with the oven open when it's set on broil. No, hotter than that even. I'll be lucky if I'm not missing an eyebrow.

Athena's "Watch out" comes a bit late.

I'm not going to risk getting hit by the next bolt. My stomach jolts into my lower intestines as I dive headfirst towards the ground. I flare my wings open to slow my descent, but I'm so soaked that I don't slow much. Flapping hard, I try to regain control before I crash into the hands of a hundred-thousand hungry demons. I get close enough to see their gaping mouths turn upwards, their claws reaching for my feet.

Three hands close on my shoulders and arms and my flight path is forcefully adjusted so I'm gliding just above the hoard. A few demons that leap as I pass actually scrape their claws across the armor on my legs. I look over my shoulder to find Verstael and one of my other guardians holding me aloft. Clearly, I still have a lot to learn about flying.

The angels gain altitude easily, dropping down over a rooftop to let me go. For half a second, I think that they're leaving me here so I'll be out of the way, but I realize that it's much easier to take off from a rooftop than it is from being dropped in the air. They hover nearby, waiting for me to get aloft again.

I run to the edge and jump, flaring my wings to catch the turbulent wind. I don't go five feet when something slams into me from below. The air is forced from my chest from the impact. I slide across the roof, crashing into an air-conditioning unit. The heavy piece of equipment is knocked loose from its moorings, but doesn't yield much more than that. I might as well have hit a brick wall. White explodes through my vision as pain radiates down my spine.

The battle angels create a tight ring around me, drawing their swords. I lay still for a minute, unable to think of anything other than the agony in my skull. I shake my head and sit up as my attacker lands on the far end of the roof.

He regards the angels with a confused stare. The rain pounding us burns off of him the moment it touches his skin. I suspect he's been out here just as long as the rest of us, but he's completely dry, even his bright red hair.

"You stand against Heaven," Uriel makes it more of a statement, but the question is undeniable. His expression says that he's genuinely surprised by the idea that Michael's angels would side with anyone but them. He must not know about Gabriel's betrayal.

The battle angels keep their gazes diverted from Uriel's wrathful look, but they don't move away from me. I get my feet underneath me and manage to stagger to them. My vision swims a little. Something hot slides through my hair with the rain. I reach up to press two fingers to my scalp, pulling them away to find blood. I'm not all that shocked.

"Our loyalty lies with Michael," Verstael responds to Uriel without raising his eyes.

Uriel spits through grit teeth, "That is not Michael."

"Our loyalty lies with Michael."

"That abomination is not Michael," Uriel screams, all the water that's within a foot of him evaporating with a sharp hiss. Before Verstael can say it again, Uriel snatches an arrow out of his quiver and notches it, aiming it at me.

The arrow flies faster than any of them can move. I flinch as it strikes. There's no pain. Confused, I look down to find Red's stone hand spread out in front of my chest. The arrow ricocheted off the stone and skittered away across the rooftop. Hellboy is panting and dripping blood from a number of shallow scratches. He must've barreled through the hoards when he saw Uriel attack me.

"Hellboy," I whisper, shocked that he was even able to keep track of me while fighting against those things.

"You guys suck at your job," HB grates out. "And you, why aren't you wearin' your fucking armor?"

It snaps around me the moment he mentions it. I probably should've let it back out after Uriel attacked me the first time, but I was too busy trying to shake the throb in my head to think about it. I'll be hearing about that for years.

Several of the angels lunge for Uriel, but he blasts them back with a burst of fire from his palm. HB grabs me and turns his back to the flames, shielding me. I hear a wet thunk and Red's body tenses around me. His nostrils flare with pain. I duck under HB's arm just as Uriel pulls the knife out of his back.

"No!" rips out of my throat.

Blades slide down both my hands and I drive them towards Uriel in a quick thrust that he ducks. He brings up the dagger to block a slash I had aimed at his stomach. Metal clashes against metal, sending sparks into the air. I try not to give him the time or space to pull out a different weapon, attacking him from every angle with the two swords. Uriel steps back and I follow.

The other angels stay away from the fight, giving me room. I know Red's probably looking for a way to jump in, but that strange calm is pulsing through me, filling my mind with techniques and strategies I've never learned. I see his quick jabs with the knife coming and know exactly how to block them, breaking my defensive move and lunging in before he can recover. My sword catches his shoulder, ripping through the thin, white fabric of his robes.

Uriel's feet reach the edge of the roof. His calves bump against the short safety wall made of brick. His wings flare to help him balance, the red tips of the feathers going almost black as the rain soaks into them. I lift both swords over my head and bring them down. He blocks one with his dagger, the other he grabs with his bare hand. Blood gushes from his palm, running in rivulets down his arm.

His expression is hard to read, brows drawn together and up in anger and confusion, his mouth partially open with shock. We only stand in a stalemate for a breath or two, but I swear we study each other for longer than that. He's no longer burning off the rain before it can reach him. Water runs down his face and makes his clothing drape heavily across his narrow frame. The white fabric quickly becomes translucent as it gets drenched, clinging to his heaving chest.

"Michael?" he whispers, his eyes flicking back and forth as he studies mine.

His expression hardens, all his other emotions disappearing beneath rage, rage that doesn't seem to be directed at me. Uriel shoves me back with a shout and sends a burst of fire in my direction. I pull both forearms up, make a shield out of my gauntlets. The fire rolls around me harmlessly.

When I retract the shield, he's gone. I run to the edge of the roof and spot him flying low across Hell's army, headed for the gap in the ice. He gains altitude long before he reaches the gods blocking his way, gliding over the wall and disappearing on the other side. I don't know where he's going, but I don't like it.

I turn back to the battle angels, separating six of them off with a flick of my hand, "You go follow him, find out what he's up to out here. The rest of you stay with me."

They bow with a "Yes, my lord" and take off towards our defensive line.

I cross over to Red and try to get a look at his wound, but he's got his flesh hand pressed over it. "You alright?" I ask, even though I know he's not going to give me a straight answer.

"If the fucker wanted to sell my kidney on the black market, he could've just asked," he starts to laugh and winces. I stick him with a glare and he finally admits, "I've had worse. Didn't hit anything vital."

"That you know of," I mutter as I peel his hand away from the deep gouge. It's low on his back, off to the right and an inch or so above where his kidney should be. I think his assessment is right. I don't think it hit any organs. "There are healers at the gate, right?"

He nods and starts to say something, but my ears perk on something else. I turn my head to follow the sound, stopping on the stairwell leading down into the building. The door is hanging off its hinges thanks to Red kicking it in a few minutes ago. Howling voices float up the staircase, an uncountable amount of sharp-edged shouts and screams.

"Red, did they follow you into the building?"

Hellboy mutters, "Crap," just as the imps scurry into view.

They cover every conceivable surface inside the stairwell, coming up the stairs themselves, crawling across the walls, and a few make their way onto the ceiling before they scramble out onto the roof. When they're in the open, they come at us with mouths open wide and eyes wild with hunger.

I throw orders out quickly, pointing at each angel as I give him instruction, "You and you, get him back to the line. Tell me when he's clear. The rest of you are with me."

Five of us launch ourselves at the demons to give them time to get Red off the roof. Fortunately, only imps seem to have found their way up the stairwell. We spread out in an arch to keep them from getting past, taking the imps down by the dozens. Blood pools, thinning as the rain continues to pound down on us. It makes the water as dark as fresh pitch. I don't pay much attention to the others or to Red's complaints as the angels haul him out of harm's way, focusing only on the fight at hand.

"We're clear, my lord," one of the angels shouts.

"Alright, everybody go! Get off the roof!" I yell, whipping both my swords in a wide arc to clear the area around me before I run for the edge of the building.

Something sharp digs into the edge of one of my wings, yanking me back. Hot needles of pain lance through my wing to the bone. Screaming, I make a wild jab at the imp that's managed to catch me. He lets go, but other leap onto me. I try to hold my wings aloft as they reach for them with greedy claws.

One succeeds in snagging a handful of feathers and all the imps near him turn their attention from me, to him. They fight over the feathers, ripping at the flesh of the owner's hands to get at them. It gives me the break I need. I roll off the building and open my wings.

Once I'm steady in the air, I look forward to the line of gods protecting the gap. My stomach tightens in a vice. The ice is melting away, fast. Already the walls are several feet shorter. My only thought is of Freya. Something must have happened. Thick black smoke is curling into the sky just beyond the wall.

A shot of adrenaline courses through me, giving me the boost I need to fly faster, harder. I dart ahead of the two angels carrying Red and shoot through the gate. Tucking my right wing, I plummet towards the street. The angels I sent after Uriel are lying all over the sidewalk, one flung across a SUV's shattered windshield. Forests of arrows stick out of their chests and backs and wings.

The florist shop is burning. Flames have already reached the top level of the four-story building. Windows are broken out on every floor from the heat, smoke billowing through them. It's barely sprinkling here. Even if it was raining as hard as it is on the other side of the wall, I don't think it could stop this burn.

I land as close to the entrance as I dare, shouting, "Freya?"

Something on the second story explodes and fire belches through the windows. I take a few steps back, peering into the bottom floor in hopes of seeing any sign of Freya. A figure moves within the blaze. He walks through the orange and yellow tongues blocking the entrance, stepping into the street without a single singed hair.

Uriel throws a blackened circlet at my feet. It pings loudly as it bounces off the cement, rolling past me. "Whatever treachery you're trying to trick me with won't work. My loyalties are with Heaven. You may have stolen Michael's armor, but you are NOT him."

"I never said I was," I utter softly.

He backs through the burning doorway, vanishing in the flames as Red and the others get through the gate. The angels have to release HB a few feet from the ground because he's struggling like crazy. He lands easily, running to me.

"Have you seen her? Did she make it out?" Red starts asking long before he reaches me.

I kneel down to pick up the intricate circlet, brushing my fingers over the woven strands of metal to scrape some of the soot off. I look up at Red, letting my eyes tell him everything he needs to know. His jaw tightens. Punching a compact car hard enough to send it skittering across the road, Red lets out a long stream of curse words, some of them in languages I don't know.

I can't wait for his anger to ebb before I say, "We have to get them out of that gap before the wall is gone. They're going to get flanked."

"We can't run."

"Red, we don't have another choice."


	16. Humanity

Thanks again to Mary Kroll for betaing this chapter.

- HB

John sprints towards the gap, shouting, "Everyone retreat! Run, now!"

I'm right on his heels, what's left of his so-called guardian angels flying overhead. So far, they haven't done much of anything that's impressed me. If I hadn't seen Uriel slam into Boyscout like a fucking Mac truck, he would've gotten killed on top of that building. They fight well, but they don't act quickly.

The walls are melting faster now. I can see the shadows of imps through the ice every time a bolt of lightning splits the air. They'll be through in few minutes, maybe more, but I doubt it. I glance ahead to find that Boyscout has gotten too far from me. When the shit hits the fan, I want him close enough that I can watch his back.

I pick up the pace, ignoring the jabs of pain that rip through my back with every step. Fuckin' stab wound. The world is ending and I still get shanked in New York. Figures.

We reach the ground troops. The back row is already looking at us, a few of them breaking away to take John's advice and get the hell out. He keeps shouting at them, pushing through the ranks to make sure everyone has gotten the word. I lose him in seconds because he's the smallest person here, but I'm still catching glimpses of his wings over everybody's heads. I follow him the best I can.

Around us, gods are murmuring questions at each other, wanting to know what's happened that made us decide to retreat. I'd take John's word for it, but I've discovered over the last few hours that none of these people take orders well. They're used to doing whatever they want.

"Those of you that can fly or teleport need to go in and get the archers out! The rest of you retreat." Something about Boyscout's urgency finally gets to them (or they notice that the ice around them is almost gone) so they finally turn tail and run. Some disappear in plumes of smoke, or fire, or snow. Others just fly away. 'Scout points at his angels and then out at the buildings where the archers and Thor and Athena are surrounded, "Help them!" They obediently take off.

Odin grabs my shoulders, squeezing hard, "What happened to Freya?" His single eye searches mine desperately. "What news is there?"

I'm not very good at delivering news of any kind. I'm WAY too blunt for it. I look to 'Scout and Freya's crown he's still clutching in one hand. Like he feels my gaze, 'Scout turns.

The imps are spilling through the ranks. We don't have time for this. I tense as two of them squeeze between Torque and the elephant-god Ganesh and make a run for John. Before I can move, a blade shoots into 'Scout's hand and he cuts them both down. He's getting better at this every damn day. I'm thankful, but I kind of miss him needing my protection, which is stupid.

'Scout presses the thin band of metal into Odin's hands, and simply says, "I'm sorry."

As the last of our army breaks, the demons come pouring through the street. 'Scout pulls at Torque. The big bastard never wants to leave a fight. He shrugs 'Scout off and slams his mace into the masses of imps, sending blood and body parts flying. We've seen this from him more than once. He gets so wrapped up in killing things that he doesn't acknowledge anything else.

I grab a discarded sword to keep the hoards clear of us for a few moments. If we can't get Torque to retreat, we're going to have to leave him or we'll all die. We're balls deep in imps and the big demons aren't far behind them.

"Torque, we have to go!" John shouts as lifts his wings out of reach. The demons clamor for them, jumping up to try and touch his feathers.

I maneuver my back against his so none of them can get close enough. They're hemming us in, the circle of empty space around us getting tighter. It's still thin in the back. If we get moving now, we could cut down the handful in our way and get out in the open, but we have to go NOW.

"John, we've gotta go!"

Just to the left of my foot, a very human hand shoots out from between the piles of imp bodies. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out who it is. I reach down and haul Lazarus out of the mound of still-twitching flesh. He looks like he's been chewed on, but he'll recover.

He gives me a smile of thanks, which fades pretty quickly as he looks around, "Did I miss something? Where has our platoon gotten to?"

"Long gone," I answer as I stab a demon through the chest.

Our exit is shrinking fast and talkin' ain't fixin', as they say. I give up my guard at John's back and give Torque a mean left-hook to the jaw. He turns to me, eyes crazy, nostrils flared, and mace raised. Pretty sure he's going to try and smack me with that thing, but some sanity seems to leak into him. He lowers it a bit as he recognizes me.

"Retreat means run, you moron!"

Something rakes its claws down one of my legs and I punt it with a shout. It might be too late. Our exit is swarming with imps and one of those big, knuckle-dragging types is coming around the corner from behind us. Guess our ice wall gave out.

Torque puts his ears back, sets his shoulders, and bellows, charging the line. Some of the imps just get out of the way, but anything that stays in his path gets thrown like an underweight football player. We all sprint down the path he's cleared.

The giant demon gives a gravely roar that Torque returns. It's a few feet taller than Torque, but nothing like that has ever made the rhino-man shy away from a fight. He thinks like me. The bigger they are, the more noise they make when their ass hits the ground. The demon raises one gigantic fist, but Torque is faster. He leaps over a cluster of imps and smashes his mace into the demon's head. It explodes like a watermelon.

We're as clear as we're going to get now. I yank 'Scout ahead of me so I can see him, glancing back to make sure Lazarus hasn't become imp food again. We run without knowing where the fuck we're going. We're not going to find somewhere safe. Those things will be everywhere in weeks. I've seen the contents of Hell. What's crawling across lower New York is spit in the bucket. Hell is just as large as Earth, and probably has a population four times as dense. These things are going to be on every continent, destroying every innocent life they can find. Unless we can stop them here, the world is done for.

Over the sound of our pounding feet, I hear something that gives me a tiny shred of hope: the pop, pop, pop of an army-issue M16. Rising over that is the heavy thump of a helicopter's rotor. Six Cobra helicopters roar over us, releasing dozens of missiles into Hell's army.

"Fuck yeah!" I shout, a thrill running through me as columns of fire blow the hoards into the sky.

I stop and turn to watch, vaguely aware that John does too. The Cobras split, three going each direction around the compact storm our troops created. Without anyone to keep it going, the clouds are already starting to disintegrate and fall beneath the black smear of soot and fire the demons brought with them. I don't think the helicopters have to worry about lightning.

John pulls at my hand, "They're still coming. We need to go."

More missiles streak into the tip of Brooklyn, but my eyes fall to the thousands of demons rushing towards us. We keep running. It's not long before we run into the tightly grouped ground troops. M16s aim at us from every angle and soldiers start shouting.

"US National Guard, identify yourselves!"

Boyscout's wings flare open to block me from view, not sure whether it was intentional or instinctive. He extends his hands towards them, yelling, "Friendlies! Hold your fire!"

Torque drops his mace, but Lazarus doesn't do much of anything except put his hands on his knees and gasp in as much breath as he can get. Wouldn't really matter if they shot him anyway.

A sergeant breaks off from his squad, approaching us with his gun raised, "You, come out where I can see you."

Guess that would be me.

"No, he's with me. It's okay," John tries to explain.

Figure we might as well get this over with. I give John's hand a comforting squeeze and come around his wing. The sergeant adjusts his aim a bit higher, the sharp hiss of him pulling air through his teeth makes me smirk. I'm going for friendly, but I don't think he picks up on it.

Back in his squad, one of the other soldiers perks up, "Hey, aren't you Hellboy?"

Great, somebody who reads The Inquirer. I nod to him.

"Sarge, he works for the government."

The sweating soldier in front of me doesn't get much of a chance to figure out whether or not he believes that. Our demonic tail comes streaming out into the open and suddenly everyone's shouting "Open fire! Open fire!" and the crack and pop of a few hundred rifles ricochets off the buildings. The imps fall like dominos.

John yanks his wings close to his body, his armor closing around him. They may not be shooting at us, but I really can't blame him. Pretty sure I flinched too. The sergeant shoves at both of us, pointing into Brooklyn with instructions I can't hear over the sound of the guns. I figure it means 'you're clear to go', so we go.

The ranks open around us to let us through. Soldiers stare. Nobody told them when they signed up for the National Guard that they'd be defending our soil from monsters most of them couldn't even imagine. I stare right back at them, my tail curling unpleasantly. It looks like they're not all guardsmen. I see a few Marines and Army squads mixed in. They were probably brought out from local bases.

Scattered in the human ranks are the gods that fled from the wall. I'm glad that they didn't keep running. Maybe Anubis's guilt trip is still working on them. There are a few of the archers and storm gods here, but there are a lot of them missing. The gods with wings are still making trips back and forth, dropping off our stragglers.

Lazarus and Torque stop to speak with Durga, but I can't hear what they're talking about. Whatever it is makes Durga smirk and shake her head. Torque studies the area around him, clearly not interested in the conversation.

"Mr. Boy?" a soldier asks.

I snort at the name, correcting him, "It's just Hellboy or HB if that's easier."

"Right, Hellboy. They want to see you and Mr. Myers in the command center as soon as possible. Follow me."

I glance down at John and raise an eyebrow. He shrugs and we both walk behind the soldier. It's weird being surrounded by all these people, by being acknowledged by them. There wouldn't be a way for the BPRD to hide what's happening, so I guess it's out in the open now. If Manning was still around, he'd be disgraced for telling people all those years that I wasn't real.

We pass groups setting up reloading stations and long-range cannons. No matter what they're doing, they stop to stare at John and me. I know it's not just me they're looking at, since John's still got his wings out and is wearing armor that nobody's seen the likes of since medieval times. He keeps his head held high, facing straight ahead as if he doesn't see them. Thing is, his wings are trembling a little, giving him away. I guess I'm the only one that would notice that.

The farther we get from the front lines, the more civilians we see. Very few are survivors being led away, most are photographers and camera crews for the media. These people are too determined to report the news, if you ask me. Anybody with a basic survival instinct should be headed as far away from here as they can get.

It's not all that surprising that every camera turns to get a shot of us. A few sets of reporters try to rush over, but a number of soldiers move to stop them. Their shouted questions fade away as we duck into a warehouse that's been converted to a temporary command center.

Inside, there are maps on boards and tables and walls with lines scribbled on them in different colors of marker. The men and women grouped around the maps are sliding their fingers along the paper, discussing tactics and marching orders in serious tones. Along the far wall are banks of computers and receivers that are crackling with the voices of commanders and soldiers.

The man leading us takes us up a small flight of stairs that leads to a series of offices. Motioning at one, he steps back to let us through. I have no idea what to expect, but the face that greats me first is very welcome.

"Abe!" I holler, grabbing the icthyo sapien into a hug I know he wasn't expecting. I pull him to arm's length, "You brought them here?"

His gills still fluttering with surprise, Blue grips my arms and says, "Hardly. The National Guard was already mobilizing. Leonitus and I only pointed them in the right direction."

Leonitus rises from his seat at a cheap-lookin' table to great us. The other men sitting with him stand as well. There are five of them, including Leonitus, and the stars on their uniforms say that they're all varying levels of general.

Leonitus shakes my left hand and then moves over to John, "I'm so glad the two of you got out alright. We were worried that we hadn't heard from you." He turns back to the group, introducing us, "Gentlemen, these are two of our retired agents, Hellboy and John Myers. Their services are invaluable to us."

John flushes a little at the statement, saluting the group out of respect. My right hand doesn't work so well for saluting, so they'll just have to make do with a curt nod from me. Nobody seems to mind.

One of the men motions at a map of New York with small metal pieces on it that remind of a Monopoly game. I start to say something snarky about wanting to be the car, but Abe elbows me in the side.

"We need any information you have. Our troops seem to be holding them off well, but we need to know what's coming," a man with very thick, white eyebrows explains. He's got the most stars, so I guess he's in charge.

Due to the room being pretty small, Boyscout finally draws his wings into his back as he moves inside. He leans over the map, the blood caked on his armor from countless demons crumbles onto the laminated surface. He brushes it away and sticks his finger on the edge of Battery Park.

"The dragon is Lucifer and the army belongs to him. If we kill him, we might be able to disorient the ground troops and slow their attack. We can target the gateway to Hell through the ground if you know where it is, right?"

I really expect to hear some 'harumph's or 'nonsense' from the group, but Hell is already scrambling to get at their troops, so I guess nothing sounds farfetched right now. I'm just too used to skepticism.

"We have bunker-busters that can get through a lot of ground, so if you have coordinates, then yes."

'Scout looks to me for the location, since he's never been there. I study the map. It doesn't have any of the subways marked, so I follow the line of Canal Street with my eyes. Where it meets the red line, I put a fingertip and then slide it slightly westward. "Here, almost at Eighth. It's seven or eight stories beneath the city. Is your bomb gonna go that deep?"

"It will."

"Good." 'Scout taps the Brooklyn Bridge and explains, "This was being held aloft by the archangel Gabriel. I don't know if he's still there, but enough explosives should bring it down and that will limit the number of demons on this side. If you don't take it out, they'll just keep coming."

A colonel comes in, salutes, and says, "There are several… uh, people here that are demanding to be let into the meeting. The woman is very persistent."

"Sounds like Athena," John mutters to no one in particular, moving past the colonel and out to the head of the stairs.

I follow him, grinning at the sight of Athena in old Roman armor yelling at a staff sergeant. It's such a weird thing to witness. Behind her are Odin and his son and the other Norse god they were sitting with at the war council. Still thinkin' his name is Tyr, but I could be wrong. All I know for sure is that he's the Norse key keeper. Anubis is off to one side, leaning over a map and scaring the living hell out of the poor woman who was taking notes for a commanding officer. He didn't bother to change back into his human form.

"We're not all going to fit in that office," I say matter-of-factly.

Just behind me, Abe makes a comment, "At least the relation between Odin and Athena seems to have improved."

"Nah, they still want to kill each other," I joke and trot down the stairs. "So they're going to handle the gate, but we've got to get to Lucifer. There's no way their stuff is going to be able to kill him."

"Excuse me?" the words are annoyed, offended. I roll my eyes before I turn to look at the head general. "We have the finest weapons the world has to offer."

John covers his mouth to hide his reaction and I can't help but chuckle a little. I shake my head at him, trying not to be too harsh, "Nothing you have is going to kill the Prince of Hell. No offense meant, sir, but that thing has lived countless years in the lake of fire, so what do you think missiles are going to do to him?"

I was expecting Leonitus to play 'dad' and tell me to be nice, but he stays out of it.

"We have weapons designed to break through the armor on tanks, what makes you think that-"

I cut him off, for the sake of time, "Those aren't going to get through his scales. You want to kill him, we're going to need an explosion on the inside of him or we're going to need to find another way. Since you're not going to get him to eat a bomb, I think we should move on."

My sarcasm is lost on John, of all people. "Why can't we get him to eat a bomb?"

I start to ask him what the hell he's thinking, but the expression on his face is enlightened. My sarcasm has never spawned real ideas before, that I know of.

Since the stairs are clogged with people, John jumps over the railing to the floor. It's only a story, but it still makes me twitch. He grabs the staff sergeant that Athena was arguing with, "Go out and find Lazarus. He'll look like a civilian to you, blonde shaggy hair and a goatee-thing. He'll be with a giant rhino. Bring him here." Clearly taken by this idea he has yet to share, John goes back to the base of the stairs, directing his next question at the group of generals, "Do you have anything in your arsenal that would create a very large explosion, but that could be carried easily by one man?"

They blink at him like they're confused, but one says, "Pretty sure we can find something."

His idea is taking shape in my head. We may not be able to get Lucifer to eat a bomb, but a person carrying a bomb is a whole different story. This is going to be a pretty shitty day for Lazarus. It'll take him a long time to regenerate from that.

"He's too smart for us to just walk up and pretend like we're attacking him. We'll need to come up with something convincing," I add onto 'Scout's train of thought, making sure it's headed in the right direction.

"We could come in on a helicopter-" John starts.

I shake my head, "He'll knock us out of the sky before we get anywhere near him."

"It's not like we can take a boat…"

I can finish that sentence for him, 'and there's no fucking way we can get across that bridge.' I rub my flesh hand across my jaw, scraping my head for ideas. Everyone around me seems to be trapped in the same riddle: how do we get to him? Anubis opens his mouth, takes in a breath to speak, and then dismisses his idea with a snort.

Finally, a voice I'm not familiar with says, "We could release Fenris. He would take us across the river."

Odin's head snaps up, his argument so sharp that I can feel it, "That animal is not trustworthy, Tyr. I will not just cut the bonds it took us years to get him into."

"You are the only one afraid of him. If I ask it of him, he will do this."

In their mythology, Fenris is supposed to be the one who kills Odin during Ragnarok, but I don't know how much of their real prophecies have survived the ages to become myth. Some of it could be true, but it could be so far removed from fact that it's useless information. Judging his reaction though, I think that story could be one that survived intact. Odin is really fuckin' scared of that wolf.

Odin and Tyr go back and forth a few more rounds before Athena can't take it anymore and cuts in, "It is the only option we have. You said it yourself that we cannot avoid our fates. It is time to face yours."

All the fight goes out of him, his shoulders slumping slightly as he lowers his gaze. A can practically see him working through what she said, even to the point of when he accepts it. Odin lifts his head, his good eye blazing with something like madness, "You're right. The will of the Norns is final."

He and Tyr vanish in a swirl of snow, leaving the rest of us to gather the rest of the supplies. Several soldiers return with Lazarus and we explain what his role will be in all this. He takes it better than I was expecting, or at least better than I would've taken it. He just nods and asks where the bomb is.

Within ten minutes, we have some kind of mini-tactical warhead slung across Lazarus with a leather belt and are all waiting for the Norse gods to get back with their monster. Our team consists of myself, John, Lazarus, Torque, Thor, Anubis, and I suspect Odin and Tyr as well. I have a few smaller explosives gathered in a black backpack. Hopefully they'll be enough.

We stand on the roof of the warehouse while we wait, watching the battle mankind is waging against Hell. Modern weapons seem to be doing pretty well against the hoards. So far, none of the demons have gotten past the front line. Up here, I can see that the defensive line the National Guard has set up spreads across the length of Brooklyn, from one riverbank to the next, just like our ice wall.

The loud thud of the larger guns reverberates in my chest. Don't think it's a feeling I'd ever get used to. Far across the river, I can see the massive shape of Lucifer silhouetted against the flaming New York skyline. I don't really know how he's communicating with his troops, because he hasn't moved since this battle started. Maybe he talks in their heads like a telepath, or maybe he's using some kind of pheromones like in _Aliens_, fuck if I know. I just have the unshakable feeling that killing him is our best chance of getting through this.

John's shoulder brushes mine as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. I slip my arm around his middle, pulling him flush to me. When he rests his cheek on my pec, I press a kiss to the top of his head.

"You ready for this?" I ask softly.

He shakes his head, mumbling, "Not really."

I'm not either, but we don't have much of a choice. Beside us, Lazarus is bouncing on the balls of his feet. It's not really nerves, but it's as if he's got a shitload of energy. He's recovered from everything that's ever been thrown his way, so he's got no real need to worry… though he is going to get eaten alive. That's no picnic no matter who you are. John can attest to that.

"Hey, you sure you understand how to start the timer? I mean, you really suck with technology and all…"

Lazarus doesn't even look over at me, just keeps bouncing on his toes, "Yeah, I got it. It's already set, so all I have to do is press a button. I think I can manage that much."

A collection of F16 fighter jets scream out of the east, probably coming off of a naval vessel in the Atlantic. They flash over the Brooklyn Bridge a split second before their missiles hit. The explosion makes all of us stagger even though we're at least a half a mile away. The bridge doesn't just fragment, it disintegrates. The pieces that rain into the water are so small that I doubt even Gabriel could put Humpty Dumpty back together.

Lucifer rears back his heads and roars, flexing his giant wings out so far that they completely block the view of the island. The river erupts with steam as he moves forward. At first, the water still flows around his feet, but then something happens that I don't think any of us were expecting. It dries up completely. The water fucking evaporates faster than the river can bring it in. It's like Moses parting the Red Sea, but this is definitely not a miracle. This is bad. Very, very bad.

As the river crawls away from the shore, the demons waiting in Battery Park scramble down the muddy embankment. They follow Lucifer so closely that they're practically dodging around his feet. The river bubbles and roils in front of him, hissing away in columns of steam.

At the western edge of Brooklyn, a snowstorm starts blowing in an area that's about the size of a long block. It thickens so it's almost completely white and then fades, the shape of a wolf forming in its wake. Fenris stands with a paw planted in four different intersections, his massive ears perked forward and his attention focused solely on Lucifer's approach. I'm guessing that the two little specs standing between his shoulders like a couple of fleas are Odin and Tyr.

"There's our ride," Anubis says dryly.

Odin and Thor flash back and forth between the roof and the demi-god wolf's back, loading everyone within thirty seconds or so. I kneel down and grab a handful of fur as big around as sunflower stalks, yanking 'Scout into a similar position by his wrist.

"Hang on," I tell him, even though it's not strictly necessary.

Tyr stands up at the base of the wolf's head, next to an ear that's taller than he is. Very gently smoothing the animal's fur with his human hand, the god talks at it in an endless stream. Mostly, it seems like he's asking for the wolf's forgiveness for helping to chain it up in that valley.

Odin appears with Lazarus in the last of the snowstorms, the snow drifting down to cling in the thick fur at his feet. Odin looks forward to his war god and kneels next to me to grab a handhold, "Tyr raised the beast, so he sees it a little differently. It took many weeks to convince him that chaining this monstrosity before it got too big to handle was the only choice. He lost his hand for it."

"What happened to his hand?" I have to ask.

"He laid it in the Fenris's mouth as a sign that he would bring no harm to the animal. When the beast figured out what we were doing, he bit it clean off."

I roll my stone hand and study Tyr's replacement arm, "So you gave him the key to your gate?"

Our ride lets out a growl that I feel roll through my body as if I'd let it out myself. I have to tighten my grip when he starts moving. Each step covers most of a block. He lifts his legs high to step over the buildings, placing his paws carefully in the widest streets or intersections.

Odin fixes that bright blue eye on me, "I know what you're trying to understand, so let's get to the point. Someone attached that key to your arm. You were not born with it; you were chosen."

One of life's great mysteries solved, but it doesn't comfort me much. What did fate have to do with it when I was just picked? It's not as though I was born to play the role of Earth's Destroyer, but I did it anyway. I fulfilled every expectation they had of me.

John's hand closes over one of my stone fingers, silently comforting me. It makes a huge difference. My nerves smooth out and the deep ache in my chest starts to fade. I hope he realizes the effect he has on me. I turn my hand so he can slide his fingers onto my broad palm. Very carefully, I enclose his hand in mine, smiling at him.

As Fenris reaches what's left of the river, he breaks out into a run. We all grab on. I wonder vaguely how fleas and ticks can do this, because staying on an animal this big is harder than you would think. Every twitch and flex of muscle threatens to buck me right off. I put my arm over 'Scout's back and grab the fur on the other side, just in case.

Lucifer looms in front of us, bigger than anything I've ever encountered. He's as tall as most of the skyscrapers in the city, maybe taller when he arches his necks back. He cackles as we run towards him. The laugh melts into a hiss that's louder than the evaporating water. Frills and flaps of leather open at the sides of several heads. Three of the mouths open to continue cackling while the other three bare their teeth.

"Ready?" Boyscout shouts at me.

I nod, releasing my hold on the fur. Lazarus just slides off of Fenris's back, but I'm going to need a ride down. I wrap my hands tightly around John's forearms. He may've managed to convince me that he can carry my weight in a glide, but I'm still a little twitchy about it. I'm three times his size and a lot heavier than I look. I get the feeling that this is going to be like one of those cartoons where somebody is using an umbrella to fly, until the umbrella turns inside out and they drop to the ground.

"You sure you can do this?"

'Scout doesn't bother answering me, he opens his wings and the wind catches in them, jerking us both off the wolf's back. As the surface slides out from under me and every pound of my considerable weight falls on John's arms and wings, he grunts in pain. We don't drop like I'd pictured, but our descent is fast. Gliding towards the empty space around Lucifer's feet, John has to flap hard to keep us from crashing into the hoards surrounding the dragon.

Fenris slams into Lucifer, his teeth going for one of the many serpentine throats. They twist easily out of reach and the wolf's mouth snaps shut with a crack as loud as a massive tree breaking in half. Even with as big as the legendary wolf is, he's not as big or as muscular as Lucifer's dragon form. He rears up onto his hind legs to claw at the scales of Lucifer's chest, biting at the base of one of the necks. Chewing savagely at the thick appendage, Fenris yelps in surprise as the head comes crashing down on top of him, ripping into his flank.

The tiny figures on Fenris's back attack the dragon with lightning and weapons so small that the dragon couldn't possibly feel them. All we need to do is be enough of an annoyance down here that he'll bring one head down to snap up Lazarus. We definitely don't want him dedicating much more attention to us than that. If he actually focuses his attention on Lazarus, he might notice the bomb. It's not all that small.

I was expecting mud to suck at my feet as we land, but the ground around Lucifer is so dry that it's cracking. John lets me go and keeps gliding another few yards. When he does put his feet down, he has to run a couple steps to keep from pitching forward. We don't waste any time. After taking one good glance around to make sure none of the imps have decided to come any closer, I drop the backpack to the dirt and pull out the packages of C4 plastic explosive.

While I'm busy sticking the ignition pins into the gray bricks, John scrambles to get the detonator prepped. Lazarus breaks free of the imps and comes running, clutching the bomb in one hand. The belt must've snapped, but the bomb seems fine. The dusty green case is designed for battle so there's not much of anything that's going to do real damage to it. He's sporting a few new gouges, though.

"Next time, I get to fly first class," Lazarus laughs when he gets close enough for us to hear. Motioning at our line of explosives, he asks, "So where does this one go?"

I jerk my head towards Lucifer, "On that front leg that's closest to us."

"You think it'll cripple the leg?"

"Nah, probably just piss him off, which is what we're counting on."

Lazarus cranes his head so he can look up at the struggle between wolf and dragon. Fenris's white fur is smeared with blood, both his and Lucifer's. It's hard to tell who's winning right now. Their roars and growls are nearly deafening. Every time Lucifer readjusts his footing, John looks up from his work to check on where his front leg has come to rest. When Fenris manages to grab one of the writhing throats, that front foot slams down close enough to us that I could spit and hit it. The claws dig into the riverbed, throwing up dust that makes us all cough.

Fenris shakes his head from side to side and tears out a massive chunk of throat. Blood rains down on the ground, burning the hoards of imps it lands on. It seems to work a lot like Napalm. It clings to the demons and keeps burning, no matter what they do to scrape it off. A second after the blood falls, the head rips free of the remaining threads of neck and plummets to the ground. The thud makes the ground tremble under our feet.

"Time to finish this," I say, worried that the next glob of blood is going to fall on us.

John helps me gather up the C4. For once in a long history of ignoring my pleas for him to get out of harm's way, he actually listens when I shove the detonator into his hands and say, "Get as far away from here as you can. I don't want him to see you when this thing goes off."

He just nods and runs towards Lucifer's back feet. I was expecting a 'Hell no, I'm staying here' just like I always get, but I don't have time to wonder what made him finally listen to me. Lazarus gets into position, his finger poised over the button that will start the thirty second timer on the warhead, and I grab one of Lucifer's deep red scales and climb.

There's no need to place the bomb too high; it'll serve its purpose wherever I stick it. I push the packages in between the oblong scales that are as big around as a car tire, pausing to hold on as he lifts his foot slightly to lunge at Fenris. When he drops it back to the ground, I keep working. There's not much to it except forcing the blocks of malleable plastic into places where they'll stay put and pressing the small red button that arms them.

I finish in seconds, sliding off the long, smooth claw and jogging to where John is waiting. "Do it," I tell him just before I get to him.

'Scout presses the detonator and a half-dozen scales blow off of Lucifer's foot. It doesn't do much, but I wasn't expecting it to. A tiny bit of blood oozes down his foot and he screams. One head snaps towards us his leg, but the only one for him to see is Lazarus. I don't realize I'm holding my breath until that head slams down on top of Lazarus. When Lucifer takes the bait, I let out a loud exhale.

The dragon's teeth are too long to dig into Lazarus, but he pins the man between them, throwing his head back and flinging him around a bit before swallowing him. Something rips free of Lazarus, but I can't see what it is until it falls to the ground between Lucifer and Fenris. It's Lazarus's arm, the armed warhead still clutched in his hand.

"Oh, fuck!"

"Run!" John screams, at me, at our friends on Fenris's back. "Get out of there!"

Instead of yelling about it, I grab his shoulder and shove him away from where the bomb's laying. We sprint as fast and as hard as we can. I'm not sure exactly when Lazarus armed the fucking thing, but I try to keep track of our time in my head. We dart past Lucifer's back feet and an idea that I don't have time to think twice on flashes through my mind.

Snagging 'Scout's arm, I pull him down just behind Lucifer's foot, putting my body over his. His arms go around my neck, tightening as he buries his face against my shoulder. His armor separates at his chest and crawls over me. I can feel it making its way rapidly down my spine and legs, protecting both of us.

It doesn't do anything to deaden the sound of the explosion.


	17. Ragnarok

Thanks again to Mary Kroll for her very fast beta skills.

- HB

My ears are ringing. The armor slowly peels away from our heads, letting in the red glow from the burning sky. I don't sit up until it comes off my back. John uncurls from me and drops his head against the cracked riverbed. He looks as disoriented as I feel. He keeps blinking and shaking his head.

"You okay?" I shout, knowing he's gotta be as deaf as I am.

'Scout looks up at me, then just behind me, and his eyes go wide with fear. Clods of dirt rain down around us and I don't have to turn to know what he's staring at. I pull John tight, rolling to my left as fast as I can. I keep rolling until Lucifer's foot slams down where we were laying. The ground shakes from the force of it and dust billows up around us.

Shifting my weight off of Boyscout, I blink through the haze to find that we only just got out of the way. One of the three claws on Lucifer's back foot is an arm's length from us. The opposite foot repeats the motion and his thick, spiny tail whips across the riverbed. Small demons nearly a half a mile from us get knocked to the ground as the tail lashes through their midst.

Like I thought, the explosion didn't do much to Lucifer. The big bastard is still standing, maybe a little worse for wear, but he's up. Blood is pouring from his gigantic, barrel chest. I can't see the extent of the damage from this angle, but I can tell that his front legs are in shreds. Most of the scales and flesh are gone and all that's left is raw, exposed muscle. Two more of Lucifer's heads hang limp at the end of their respective necks, the noses nearly dragging on the ground.

Fenris, on the other hand, is lying in the scorched crater the bomb left behind. I can still see his sides heaving weakly, but there's not much fight left in him. Most of the fur on his face and chest is burned away, leaving his bites and gouges from the fight exposed. I don't see any of our friends.

I haul John to his feet and move cautiously towards Fenris, narrowing my eyes to try and find some sign that the others are alive. A few figures are moving in the smoke by the wolf's head. They seem like they're struggling to lift the animal, which they should know is impossible. They might as well try to pick up the Empire State Building.

Lucifer's remaining pair of heads writhe wildly, screaming in what I guess is agony, but could just be rage. He flexes his wings, flapping sporadically. Hopefully, it'll be a few minutes before he refocuses on killing us. We'll be lucky if we have minutes.

With 'Scout right on my heels, we run for Fenris. Grabbing one of 'Scout's shoulder plates, I lead him around Lucifer's front feet, giving the dripping napalm blood a wide berth. Lucifer doesn't try to snatch us up as we go by. I'm not even sure if he can see us. The flare of light from that explosion leaked through the seams in John's armor, so looking right at it probably burned the shit out of Lucifer's eyes.

All the imps in the area have been destroyed. Their bodies aren't just burnt, they're char-grilled. As we run through them, they explode into clouds of ash. A solid piece of bone occasionally crunches underneath my boots, but most of the remains are just blowing away. It's one less thing to worry about.

As we run by Fenris's nose, we get blasted by hot, moist air from his exhale. Small flecks of blood mingle with his breath, more obvious as they land on John's pale skin than it is on mine. The animal doesn't have long. Tyr is lying on the wolf's head right next to his coffee-table sized eye. He has a very unhealthy relationship with this beast, but I guess raising something does make you a little more attached to it.

We come around the burned remnants of Fenris's ears to find Torque and Thor still desperately trying to lift the animal's head. I open my mouth to ask them what the hell they're trying to do when I see a dark smear of fur coming out from beneath Fenris. It's Odin's cloak.

"Crap," I grunt, rushing over to help.

Wedging my stone hand beneath the wolf's thick hide, I strain to lift him off of Odin. John comes in beside me, shouting at Tyr to help us. We all cluster as close as we can to where Odin is crushed, lifting with enough combined strength to pick up a train engine, but Fenris doesn't budge.

"He's not going to move," John gasps in defeat.

We all give up when 'Scout does because his assessment is right. Everyone but Thor that is. The veins in Thor's neck and arms stand out as he redoubles his effort.

Tyr puts his stone hand on Thor's shoulder, "My lord, Odin is gone."

Thor doesn't pay much attention to him. Blood rushes to his face as he puts every ounce of his strength into lifting the animal off of his father. His scream is desperate, pained. We don't have time to convince him that there's no saving Odin. Lucifer is moving towards us and he's pissed.

I give Boyscout a good shove and shout, "Go."

With a long look that I easily interpret as 'don't get killed', 'Scout follows my instruction. Torque is right behind him, but Thor won't stop struggling to free his father's corpse. Tyr keeps trying to politely coerce him into leaving, but the ground is shaking under our feet with Lucifer's approach. The remaining heads scream as they lunge towards us. I close my stone hand on Thor's arm and yank him out of the way.

The snapping teeth barely miss us. Lucifer's growl rumbles through me as he flings his head to the side to try again. His massive mouth opens wide enough to swallow a double-decker bus without chewing. The black chasm of his throat is the darkest pit of Hell. Fleeting guilt passes through me at sending Lazarus into him with nothing to show for it.

I feel like I might've ripped Thor's arm out of socket as I jerk him out of the way. That mouth clacks shut and the other head dives down to hem us in. Thor gets sick of being yanked around real quick. He pushes me off with a snarl and pulls his hammer out of the leather holster at his waist.

Lucifer's head darts towards us and I reach to yank Thor away, but he lands a solid punch on my nose. I stagger back as Lucifer's teeth snap around Thor. There's no blood, Thor's just gone. Tyr watches solemnly as Lucifer rears up with the last of the Norse nobility in his mouth.

"Come on," I growl.

The others are waiting a dozen yards from us, Torque a little farther away than John. 'Scout's battle ready, his wings flared out and his swords gripped firmly in his hands. Despite the brave stance, his face is vulnerable, terrified. All of our plans have failed, so I understand his fear. I've got it gripping my insides too.

Something explodes far above us, sounding a lot like an electrical transformer getting hit by a missile. The head that grabbed Thor rips into dozens of pieces. Massive bolts of lightning pour through the tears in his face, crackling out of his eyes and the seams between his scales. Fragments of bone and brain and blood fly off in all directions.

Falling from the gory debris is a white-hot streak of light that has to be Thor's hammer. The fragment of flesh clinging to the hammer uncurls and disappears in a swirl of snow. Fucking bastard is alive! The tiny snowstorm is echoed near Fenris's hips, Thor appearing in the middle of it. He collapses to his knees and falls forward onto his face, clearly drained. Good thing he's back there, we should've have to worry about moving him.

Lucifer's mass quivers and twitches in the aftermath of the blast, a cry of agony tearing from the final head. There's only one head left. I don't need much of a dawning moment, since it's a pretty simple idea. Kill the last head and we kill him.

"We've gotta get to the last head!" I shout at the handful of us that remain.

'Scout's at my side in a heartbeat, "What's the plan?"

"No plan, we've just gotta kill this son of a bitch. Do you think you can fly me up there?" I ask, already pretty certain of the answer. He had a hard time gliding my bulk down here, so I doubt he'll be able to ascend to that height with me in tow.

John peers up, his brow furrowed, "I can try."

"Shit, where's Anubis?" I haven't seen him since the bomb went off, so that's not good. He could get me up there in an instant, but there's a good chance that he's dead.

"Here he comes," Torque shouts, hoisting his mace.

For a second, I think he means that he spotted Anubis, but Lucifer is coming down on us fast. We scatter in every direction, John and me climbing over Fenris's body and Torque and Tyr darting into the open. Instead of coming after any of us, Lucifer snaps his teeth around Fenris's throat. He shakes the downed animal like a fucking ragdoll, throwing 'Scout and me to the ground.

I roll to my feet and hoist John by his waist so we can get out of the way. We don't want to be here when Lucifer drops Fenris. The animal struggles weakly in Lucifer's grip, scratching at the dragon's scaled nose twice. Fenris's jugular sprays blood in thick rivers down what's left of his fur. Try's jagged cry is much louder than the wolf's dying whimpers.

"I've got an idea," John whispers.

I look down at him to find him spinning a thin strand of metal between his gauntleted fingers. As far as I can tell, the metal is coming from the living armor. As he draws his arms apart, the strand of metal lengthens to match. A spiral of blade grows out of the strand and catches what little light there is.

My brow furrows, "Is there enough metal?"

"If I limit the armor to my hands, probably."

"How the hell are you gonna get up there?"

He holds my gaze, taking in a shuddering breath before he says, "Fly."

Lucifer releases the wolf's corpse, the body collapsing to the ground with a thud. His victorious roar is loud enough to make us clasp our hands over our ears. Thank god it's short lived.

My heart is jumping around in my ribcage as I fight with John's idea. "He'll snap you out of the goddamn air! You'll never get close enough," I snarl. I don't want him anywhere near Lucifer, let alone making a suicidal run at his head.

"Then I'll need a good distraction," he answers easily, but the tremor in his wings gives him away. He's just as scared as I am.

I turn away, running a rough hand across my face.

John comes around in front of me, pressing, "We don't have any other ideas! We have to do something."

Lucifer charges us, keeping his last head far out of our reach. He slams a clawed hand down to try and grab Torque. The industrious rhino-man drops down and calls forward rows upon rows of sharp spires of earth. The ground rockets upward into Lucifer's hand, spearing it. As he yanks back with a howl, the dirt spines break apart.

I completely forgot he could do that. An idea starts to form in my head. I turn back to 'Scout, but he's gone. I look up frantically. He's already far above me, darting towards Lucifer.

"John!" I shout.

He doesn't turn, doesn't slow. If he survives this, I'm going to fucking kill him.

My stomach twists into a tight knot. I run for Torque, needing to get a good distraction going before John gets too close to Lucifer. I have to climb over Fenris's mangled forepaws to get to Torque. As I'm cresting the second one, I'm already yelling, "Rupture the ground under his feet! Make a fucking earthquake!"

Torque's ears flick towards me, but he doesn't give me more attention than that. He hears me just fine. Lifting both fists over his head, Torque throws his weight forward and bashes them into the earth. The ground shakes as a massive crack speeds away from the point of impact. The farther it gets, the bigger it gets, until it's wide enough to park an eighteen-wheeler lengthwise in it.

When it reaches Lucifer, the crack spreads out into a web of fractures. I cast my gaze upward to see that John is nearly at the dragon's face, but Lucifer's attention is focused on the ground as it gives way beneath him. The earth crumbles under Lucifer's weight. His feet slide and scramble on the loose riverbed, his thick tail pinwheeling as he tries to regain his balance.

The long segment of metal gleams as it drops beneath Lucifer's last head. It catches his eye. Just as John lands on the back of his neck, Lucifer starts thrashing. He throws his head every direction he can, shifting his massive frame back and forth as he tries to shake John. From here, I can't tell whether or not the tiny piece of razor wire is even doing any good. I don't think John has enough strength to pull it through the thick scales and muscle.

"I have to get up there," I shout to no one in particular.

Frantically, I look around for anything that will help me get to John. I growl as I realize that my options are nonexistent. Thor is still unconscious, Tyr can't teleport and neither can Torque. I consider just climbing the mammoth scales, but I'll never get to John before he's thrown off.

A clawed hand lands on my back and I sink through the shadows at my feet. For a breath, I'm in complete darkness and then I'm on a surface that's pitching and rolling. Deep red scales spread out in all directions. I throw my arms around a tall spine as the surface beneath my feet dips fast and hard.

I look back at Anubis, who has his claws dug firmly between the thick scales. He's missing an eye, the long jagged wound that caused it trailing down his muzzle and splitting his upper lip clean through. It's going to be a hell of a scar. I nod my thanks to him and he slides through my shadow without a word.

It takes me a second to get my bearings since I'm being tossed around like a sailboat in a hurricane. Lucifer's body is behind me, so the head has to be forward. I climb the writhing neck as carefully as I can, imagining Velcro and glue and all sorts of idiotic things. My stone hand is the best tool I have. I wedge it between the large scales to keep me from flying off, moving my flesh hand forward to grab any handhold I find. I haul myself up with spines and scales and a thick flap of skin that leads down to a frill that's flaring wildly.

Lucifer's snarls and roars were loud from the ground, but up here they're deafening. It's like standing next to a jetliner as it takes off. I'm too busy trying to keep from getting thrown off to cover my ears but I desperately wish I had some earplugs. I'll be lucky if I get even a quarter of my hearing back. Pretty sure my eardrums are bleeding.

I find John flat on his stomach, the razor wire wrapped around his wrists and hands three or four times. The armor is down to just his grieves and his gauntlets, the rest of it stretched into the length of wire he's got wrapped around Lucifer's neck. Right now, he's not doing much more than just holding on. His eyes are squeezed shut and his lips are moving with words I can't hear. He's put his wings away, probably to reduce the wind drag.

My body aches from the effort of fighting my way up the neck, but it's only going to get worse. All I have to work with here are Lucifer's scales. They get thicker and flatten out as they travel down towards his head, making it a little easier to hold on. I inch forward on my belly, sliding in next to John so I don't crush him.

His bright blue eyes flash open, fixing on me with shock. I definitely had to be the last thing he was expecting. There's nothing that can be said over the noise Lucifer is making, so I wrap my hands around John's hands and fight to get my feet under me. The wire doesn't bite into my skin like I was expecting. It's much smoother where it's wound around John's fists.

Once we're up, I slide my stone hand forward, taking both ends of the line into it. John's bare feet slip on the smooth scales and I whip my other arm around his waist to keep him steady. I don't expend too much thought on why the hell he's not wearing shoes, focusing on keeping my stance spread wide enough that I can stay upright and pulling the wire into Lucifer's throat.

I back up slowly as John and I yank the cord through the dragon's neck. The yield is minimal. I have to jerk my mass back to make any kind of progress. John manages to find a solid foothold, digging his heels into the edge of a scale. He pushes back against me. Blood drips out of his hands as the line cuts through the seams of his armor.

Lucifer's thrashing becomes more frantic. He whips his head from side to side, nearly pitching both of us off the edge. My feet leave his flesh, my body thrown back by a particularly savage buck. Somehow, I manage to keep hold of the line. As the combined force of Lucifer's flailing and John and my weight hit the wire, something gives. We fly through the air gracelessly, arcing towards Lucifer's back.

John pulls out his wings, but he can't get oriented as he tumbles. I yank him against me just as we crash into one of Lucifer's shoulders. Pain explodes through me. I curl around Boyscout, wrapping my arms around both his wings so they don't get caught on something. We bounce against the rock-like scales again and again, sliding until I manage to drive my stone fingers into a crevice. We jerk to a stop, both of us panting.

Slowly, I lift my head to find that we're just past Lucifer's flank. The body shudders underneath us and then we're falling again. John's wings flex against my hand and I shift the arm down around his waist so he can open them. Lucifer drops away from us. I watch the body hurtle towards the ground, not entirely certain that John's idea worked until I see the raw stump of neck oozing black blood.

I can't stop my triumphant shout, don't want to stop it. 'Scout joins me and we shout and laugh and howl all the way to the ground. As soon as my feet touch the riverbed, I pick 'Scout up and spin him in a tight circle, my mouth closing over his in a bruising kiss. His arms go around my neck and his lips open to mine. The thrill that runs through me makes everything tingle, pushing my aches and pains into the back of my mind.

I pull away, grinning like a goddamn idiot and not caring in the slightest. John chuckles and presses his forehead to mine. For a few minutes, we just stay that way, breathing each other's air and reveling in the fact that we're alive. I card my fingers through his sweat-slicked hair, moving my hand down to cradle the base of his skull. I press my lips to his more softly, tasting sweat and blood.

The moment breaks when a fearful shout is aimed in our direction, "The demons are closing in!" I'm not entirely sure who said it.

Off in the distance, near the shore, I spot the hoards marshalling. The few that remain after the bomb blast are rushing towards us. I put 'Scout down and we race back to the front of Lucifer's corpse. Our feet pound across the hardened ground where Lucifer's blood had fallen and it crunches like glass. I glance down and realize that it is glass. His blood was so hot that it made the riverbed into pockmarked, blackened glass.

We run underneath one of Lucifer's thick necks to find that Torque and Tyr and Anubis are already clustered in a tight defensive ring. They're watching the swelling numbers of demons approach them. Thor is in the middle of their ring, still unconscious. There's no way we can fight out here. We'll be hemmed in and devoured. As I scan the hoards, I realize that we already are hemmed in. They're all around us. Those that were ahead of Lucifer are turning back, and countless more are rushing into the riverbed from Battery Park.

"We've got to get out of here. Anubis, take them to Brooklyn," I shout, still too far away from them to talk normally.

A crunching sound from Lucifer makes me freeze. I turn slowly, eyeing the body suspiciously. Curling my stone hand into a tight fist, I tell John, "Get out of here."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him shake his head, "No way. I'm with you."

Helluva time for his stubborn streak to come back. I hear the crunching sound again, but the body doesn't seem to be moving. Lucifer's necks lay curled all around us, not a one of them twitching. I narrow my eyes, staring at the meaty flesh of Lucifer's chest to try and pinpoint the sound. I don't have to pinpoint it because a sword slices through the muscle from the inside. Hands appear after it, dropping the sword once they're through, and then Lazarus's mop of unruly hair pushes through.

"I'll be damned," I mutter.

He's much too high up for me to reach, so I hoist John onto my shoulders to help pull Lazarus out. John pulls at the man's slick arms, grabbing his belt once it's visible. The tug he gives it makes the leather shred and John almost falls backwards. I brace his back, keeping a wary eye on the approaching hoards. They're a little less than a hundred yards away now, not even the length of a football field.

"Pretty sure this is what getting birthed feels like," Lazarus complains.

John manages to get a good grip on his jeans, asking, "How the hell did you find your way out?"

"Heard the explosion… well, felt it is more like it. Can't believe my damned arm came off! Anyway, so I kept moving in the direction I thought it had come from."

His arm did come off, but I'm lookin' at a guy with two arms. He must regenerate a whole lot faster than I ever thought he did. The idea only distracts me for a moment. I crane my neck to look back at the others. They're gone. Hopefully because Anubis listened to me and not for some other unfortunate reason. 'Scout finally gets Lazarus loose and I let them down carefully.

The demons are almost on top of us.

I grab John's face and force as much authority into my voice as I can possibly manage, "Get out of here now. Anubis is coming back for us and he can't take you."

"But-"

"No, don't argue with me, just go."

John hesitates, but finally unfolds his wings. Good. I was afraid for a minute that I was going to have to throw him into the air to get him moving. Going from a dead start isn't easy and I can tell that he's tired, but he manages to get aloft. He hovers above us until I motion angrily at the shore.

I barely have enough time to pick up Lazarus's discarded sword before the imps start crawling over their master's dead body to get to us. Lazarus slides close to me and I realize that his other sword sheath is empty. All he's got are his bare hands. I shove the sword at him, crushing the first imp beneath my stone fist.

"I'm gettin' really sick of you assholes," I gripe between hits.

We've only been at it for a few minutes before Anubis's slick black hands come out of the shadows at our feet. He grabs my ankle and then Lazarus's, dragging us through. I hold my breath in the shadow, not even really sure why I do it. Moving through shadow is like moving through something thick and viscous. I swear I'm moving in slow motion.

I break out of the shadow well behind the National Guard's defensive line. One young soldier panics when he sees me, bringing his gun around. I grab the barrel so he can't aim it at me.

"Hey, I'm one of the good guys," I growl at him, annoyed.

His dark green eyes go wide and he drops the weapon, scrambling backwards into a few of his buddies. I'm afraid that none of them are going to realize that I'm on their side, but as more heads and guns turn my direction, Anubis steps between them and me.

His lip curls, but he doesn't snarl at them, "Hellboy is not an enemy. Focus on the things outside of your encampment."

They slowly go back to whatever they were doing before I showed up, which looks like they're setting up another missile-launcher of some kind. I don't know too much about military gear outside of my own gun, so I turn away.

"Thanks," I toss at Anubis.

He nods, then perks his giant ears forward. After listening a moment, he tells me what he hears, "The demons are falling back. The humans have got them retreating."

"Let's go have a look, shall we?" Lazarus quips, walking into an alley at our backs.

Standing on top of a crate marked 'Explosive', he grabs the last rung of a rusty metal ladder that leads up to a fire escape. It clangs down on top of him, smacking his head hard enough that I hear the thick crack over all of the soldiers' shouting and gunfire. Using curse words I'm not all that familiar with, Lazarus steps out of the way so the ladder can clang into place and starts climbing.

I follow a little more slowly, not sure that the rickety stairs are going to hold my weight. They whine and creak, but don't give way. As my confidence grows, so does my speed. I take the last curve of stairwell in three bounds, leaping the short distance to the roof because Lazarus is taking up the last ladder.

The demons are running towards the destroyed bridge, ranks of soldiers following after them. They're falling by the hundreds and their numbers are actually slimming. At least on this side of the river, I think we have things under control.

Out in the river, the mound of Lucifer's body is being swallowed by water. I guess his power waned enough to let the flow of the river resume. The water crashes into the empty space like a dam had broken. It slams into Lucifer, but the body doesn't move. His ribcage becomes a small island, his severed necks floating to the surface to drift and twist with the tide.

I scan the sky for John. It takes me some time to find him, but when I do spot him, I wave my arms to try and get his attention. He's still a ways out, at least a quarter of a mile, but he must see me. He changes course, coming straight towards us.

A missile screams out of the street beside us, billowing smoke as it streaks into the air. It arcs high, so high that it cuts through the clouds and I lose it for a few seconds. When it breaks the cloud cover, it's headed down into Manhattan. It lands deep in the city but makes a plume of fire big enough that I can see it over the skyline. A heartbeat later, the shockwave hits John then us.

I only stagger back a step from the blast, but John's flight path is wrecked. He tumbles end over end, dropping like a stone. He disappears into a street that's near our front line, but I don't know if he's in front of it or behind it.

I take off across the roof, leaping to the next one easily. Not all of the buildings are that even. The next jump I drop a few stories, tucking into a roll as I land on the hot tar roof. Not losing any speed, I leap to a taller building, grabbing onto the stone masonry and climbing quickly.

A bullet ricochets off the brick near my head, but I ignore it. I'm over the edge before they can get another shot off. When I get to the street where I saw John fall, I grab the railing and jump over it, not entirely sure what I'm dropping in on. My landing sends a shock through my feet and cracks the cement sidewalk.

A group of Marines are clustered around John. One is trying to peel open 'Scout's helmet to check on him while the others are shooting at the imps and demons still scattered throughout the street. The living armor is crushed in on part of the helm and chest plate. I wince at the awkward angle his wings are folded at. One is twisted up underneath him and the other is folded limply across his chest.

I'm not surprised that several guns shift towards me as I approach. I raise my stone hand to protect my head in case they do decide to start firing. "I'm with you guys. BPRD. Name's Hellboy."

Their staff sergeant salutes me and barks out, "Sir, this block is almost secure. We're moving up to Concord Street, sir."

"Uh," I stumble over my words, not really sure what to say to such a formal report. "Carry on." I move past him, crouching down by 'Scout's side.

The medic, or whatever he's called, gets out of my way, "Sir, I can't get through his armor to make official judgment, but it seems like he's just unconscious, sir."

At my touch, the armor folds back from John's face and chest. His expression is serene, almost like he's sleeping. His pale skin is peppered with scrapes and bruises, but they're all old. I don't see any blood other than what was already there. When I work my hands underneath John's back and knees in preparation for picking him up, his eyes open.

"I crashed," he murmurs.

I hold off for a moment, laying him back on the cement, "Yeah, you did. Do your wings hurt, 'cause they look pretty bad."

The steady pop, pop, pop of the Marines' guns finally slows as the last of the demons on this block die. They maintain their position around us for which I'm silently grateful. I don't want to have to check on Boyscout and keep watch for demons at the same time.

John lifts the wing that was draped across him, but struggles to get the other out from beneath him. As he moves, his face scrunches up with pain. I pull him upright so he can shift the wing out from under him. He does so gingerly, hissing as he flexes it. I spot the problem quickly. There's a thin bone protruding from the leading edge of his wing. He broke it pretty badly.

I don't even have to turn to the medic, he's already got his stuff out and is looking intently at John's break. Knowing this is going to be excruciating, I squeeze 'Scout tight to my chest so he can't see what the medic is about to do.

Another shockwave from Manhattan rattles the windows around us. The marines barely move. One of them shouts, "Bunker hit!" and all the others follow it with, "Hoorah," in a deep tone.

The medic places his hands carefully on either side of the break in 'Scout's wing and 'Scout's body arches in my arms. His breath quickens against the side of my neck and I realize that this isn't pain. I have to crush my ridiculous anger at the fact that someone else is making John all hot and bothered. There isn't much of another option if we want his wing set properly.

Sweat is standing out on the medic's brow as he studies the thin bone. He's gotta be way out of his league here. He was trained to do patch jobs on the field to get soldiers back in action, or to keep them alive until they could get to a real doctor. I highly doubt that his training EVER covered how to set an angel's wing.

Suddenly, the medic yanks the wing straight and any arousal that his touch might've caused vanishes. John's scream is loud and long, his fingers digging almost painfully into my skin. He pants when he can't scream anymore, each frantic exhale tinted with a whine or whimper. The medic braces John's wing quickly, folding it up on itself before he wraps the gauze around it.

"Sir, he shouldn't use it for a while, sir," the medic states, but hesitates. When he meets my gaze, I can tell that it bothers him to have to admit, "I don't know for how long, sir. It's not something I'm familiar with."

The Marine farthest out unexpectedly falls to the ground. His body spasms like he's having a seizure. The medic rushes to him, delicately removing his helmet to get a good look at him. I can see the sores and boils from here.

"Demegov," I whisper and feel John tense in my hold.

Another one drops within the group. As I watch, the structure of his face changes. All of the muscle and fat shrivels out from behind his skin, leaving him gaunt in seconds. That isn't Demegov. I don't know what can do that.

All around us, the Marines are dying of disease and starvation. One of them just starts shooting and screaming. His bullets rip into his teammates. When he turns to us, I notice that he's crying blood. He doesn't get a chance to pull the trigger. I snatch a knife from a downed Marine's leg-holster and throw it with more accuracy than I thought I had. The eight-inch Bowie sinks into the soldier's chest. I grit my teeth after the fact, wishing I hadn't had to kill him.

I pick John up and set him on his feet, walking slowly towards the nearest intersection. As I come out into the open, I can see that what happened to our Marines was not an isolated incident. All of the humans are dying. They're collapsing by the hundreds in the streets.

Above our heads, the thick cloud cover finally breaks apart and bright white light streams down on the city. The four figures I see descending from the heavens make my mouth go dry and my chest tighten.


	18. Judgment

Thanks again to Mary Kroll for her beta work. Wish I'd let you beta them sooner!

- HB

'Scout's soft declaration is in perfect line with my own thoughts, "By all things holy… is that the Horsemen?"

"Yeah," I answer, still squinting up at the bright streamers of light breaking through the clouds. The light is spreading and sweeping the shadow off of Manhattan. It should be comforting, but I'm certain that it means things are about to get a lot worse.

Behind the horsemen come something else, a moving, twisting, living shape that looks like the biggest flock of birds ever to move across the earth. Only, they're not birds, they're angels. As the formation of angels comes closer, they block out the sun. Guess no matter which side we're fighting, we're gonna be in the dark.

The mass of angels don't come straight for us. They make a wide arc in the air and come down on Manhattan, sweeping through every street and alley. There's so many of them that their gleaming armor is like mercury running through Manhattan's veins. Their attack makes the entire city shine, which is really damn weird.

"Why go to all the trouble to release the forces of Hell only to kill them off?" John asks without tearing his gaze from the city.

I don't have any real facts, just guesses, but I give him what I've got, "Because we were beating them. What good are they in wiping out mankind if they can't get past the National Guard?"

"And every god and goddess from the far corners of the world," he corrects me.

"Them too."

Speakin' of all those people, they seem to be the only ones left standing after the horsemen's power ripped through the human army. Those that are left come out into the open, weapons at the ready. The last handful of Michael's battle angels swoop down from the rooftops and land nearby, their faces turned up to the four figures hovering high above the river. Three more specs break away from Heaven's army and join the horsemen. My intuition says that it's Gabriel, Uriel, and Raphael.

The bloody, tired collection of gods and goddesses move towards the shore to greet the angels. I can see their exhaustion in the way they move, but their will to fight is strong. This has gone beyond Anubis's guilt trip. They've become bound to the fate of the humans now that they've fought beside them. I know that feeling. I've known it all my life.

When you watch human men struggle with all their might against things that are stronger, darker, faster than they are, you begin to admire them. And then your only choice is to help them, to protect them. There was an ancient king in Greece that burned the phrase 'No sacrifice, no victory' into the minds of his troops. I've always thought it was an excellent code to live by.

Even though I want John to stay behind where he's safe, I don't even open my mouth. It would be a useless gesture at this point. Boyscout is pretty much glued to my side for better or worse and would be even if I hadn't proposed to him. Funny that he was that way long before we ever got together.

'Scout's armor crawls across his chest and head, forming a new helmet and breastplate that don't have a hint of damage on them. The blades slide into place in his hands as we come to a stop at the rocky retaining wall at the edge of the East River.

"Look," 'Scout's voice is muffled by the helm, but reinforced by the finger he's pointing out at the river.

I follow the line with my eyes, trying to figure out what he's wanting me to see. When my gaze crosses it, there's no doubt about what he's pointing at. The river is turning red. As if somebody dumped a shitload of dye into the water, this deep crimson color spreads through the body of water from the North. It moves much faster than the flow of the river, overtaking the natural tide. Wherever the color spreads, the river slows. It sweeps past us and the sharp metallic smell of blood fills my nose.

I know this Bible verse…

Azriel lands on the grass beside us, "And so the fate of mankind will be decided."

I don't really know whether or not we're supposed to say anything to that, but he doesn't seem to be waiting on an answer. He throws his heavy black cloak back to reveal some slick armor with long, soulful faces carved in a row down the center of the breastplate. As he moves one arm back to form his scythe, I see other faces reflected in the armor, hundreds of them, maybe more. The polished metal doesn't reflect the river, or the road, or the gods gathering around us, just death masks. I find myself wondering who they are.

The group in the sky descends towards us. The horses aren't held up by wings or anything else I can see, they just seem to be galloping through the air the same way they would across a regular surface. I suppose if they can wipe out entire armies without lifting a finger, making their horses fly is no problem.

The archangels dive ahead of the horsemen, swooping down to land on the surface of the river. They tuck their wings without sinking. Neat trick, sarcasm intended of course. Gabriel tosses his dark hair over his shoulder as he approaches the bank. He's holding a long, thin horn in one hand. I think I remember something about that horn, but I don't know exactly what it is that makes it unique.

Gabriel wisely stays out of range, stopping when he's still a few dozen feet from the shore. He lifts both arms into the air, smiling wickedly as he cries, "Brothers! Sisters! Why do you stand in the way of the inevitable? The time of man is at an end. Now is the hour to put aside these petty mortals, to cleanse the Earth of their existence. Judgment has come."

I glance back to watch the gods' reactions and realize that there are a lot fewer of them than I thought. We're down to maybe thirty from the hundreds that showed up to defend humanity. Some might've turned tail and run, but I think most of them have fallen under the hoards of Hell. Athena and Anubis are still with us. Thor is on his feet, but looks very unsteady. Durga stands alone, I don't see her blue husband anywhere.

When nobody moves or even responds, Gabriel's smile vanishes, "The final judgment will happen whether or not you agree to it. If wish to stand with this pitiful, sin-ridden race then you will be judged with them. This is your last chance to break your ties with the humans. Think of it as an opportunity to begin anew."

Azriel steps out onto the river, his voice rising into many voices in the same way Michael spoke in Eden when he came for Demegov. It's as though a hundred people are all speaking in such perfect unison that you can't separate out a single voice. "Is this a decision of the entire council, Gabriel, or just one of your own making?"

"I do not answer to you, turncoat," Gabriel hisses. "Your voice holds no sway over the council."

Uriel and Raphael shift restlessly behind their leader. They definitely don't agree with him about Azriel. Very quietly, Raphael says, "Azriel, stand down now and we will keep it in consideration when you are judged."

"No," the angel of death shouts. "I will not be silent any longer. Too long have I kept his secrets."

Gabriel lunges for him before he can start spilling anything too incriminating. A curved blade flashes from a holder at Gabriel's hip, sinking deep into Azriel's shoulder. It cuts right through the armor and flesh and bone, stopping at the middle of his torso. Thing is, it doesn't do squat to Azriel. The angel keeps talking and Gabriel's eyes get about as big around as saucers.

"Did you tell them what God said to you as he died? Did you tell them about the pact you made with Lucifer over your Father's cooling corpse?" Azriel flares his wings out and grabs the handle of Gabriel's weapon, pulling it deeper into himself and bringing Gabriel closer in the same move. "Did you tell them that someone had to take the blame and Lucifer agreed to take it if in return you let him destroy God's favorite creation?"

As his voice rises, it fractures so that the individual tones and tenors become clear. Some of the voices he speaks with are not saying the same words as the others, some are wailing. It makes a shudder rip down my spine and leaves me very unsettled. I want to beg him to stop talking, to silence all of these hundreds of people that are screaming through his mouth.

Gabriel seems as disturbed by Azriel as I am. When he tries to let go of the weapon and step away, Azriel grabs his gauntlet and yanks him back. Azriel's voice drops into a hiss, "Did you tell them that the Apocalypse was not planned by our Father, but by you?"

Gabriel's fear is replaced by rage. His eyes narrow, the line of his mouth tightening and then curling up at one edge. He rips the blade out of Azriel's body as his rage fades too. This icy calm comes over him and he smirks briefly before turning back to the other archangels.

"Hypocrisy. He stands with us against Michael, but now turns against me," Gabriel states with so much confidence that he's gone way beyond smug. "What makes you question our Father's grand design? The humans must be judged before they can enter the final paradise, even our fledglings know that."

"I found the scrolls, Gabriel," Azriel tells him in one, quiet voice. He reaches beneath his cloak to a pouch or pocket I can't see and produces a document that looks like it belongs in Alexander's Library. The parchment is old, but not damaged, so yellow-brown that it couldn't have ever been white. The metal caps on either end are encrusted with giant-ass gemstones in colors I've never seen in natural rock. A crimson wax seal is pressed to the very front of the paper, but it's broken.

"I stood against Michael because we all thought he was turning his back on Father's wishes for the final days of man, but then I found this in his rooms. He'd hidden it all these years, waiting for the right moment to bring forward your betrayal. You believed it to be destroyed, didn't you?"

All three archangels look at that scroll with a kind of awe and reverence I can't quite put into words. The significance of the ancient roll of paper is lost on me, but I can tell that they know exactly what it is. I'm hoping that Azriel will fill the rest of us in.

Uriel steps forward, shoving past Gabriel and holding out his hands for the scroll. Considering he makes fire with his hands, I would NOT give it to him, but Azriel does. "But this is still in the archives, I looked upon it myself a few days ago," Uriel mutters as he unrolls the delicate paper. His eyes roam over it quickly, anger creeping into his features with every line he takes in. Finally, he rolls up the document and hands it over to Raphael. There's a fire burning in his eyes. He turns on Gabriel. "Deceiver," Uriel snarls. "That is written in our Father's hand. You were not his scribe; you rewrote his great plan after he was gone! Unworthy! Inglorious! You turned us against our own brother!"

Gabriel doesn't seem to have anything to say in his own defense, but I guess there's no arguing when the others are so sure. The rest of us scarcely breathe as the scene plays out. This fight seem like it might've been a long time coming. And I mean a long time, as in since this dirt ball was first populated. Sad that mankind's destruction has been planned from the beginning by one angry, jealous angel. Well, two. I guess Lucifer and Gabriel have been working together on the idea for a while.

Raphael, Azriel, and Uriel circle around their betrayer, their eyes glowing white. Words I can't even begin to understand or translate start spilling out of their mouths. It sounds like a chant of some kind. Beside me, John mutters with them. I glance over to find the slit of his helm glowing with the same brilliance as the archangel's eyes. I furrow my brow.

"John?"

His words flip into English, maybe consciously, maybe not, "Gone shall be the inglorious, and gone shall be his influence over the great Heavens. We cast you out of the presence of the Holy Ones for you are no longer magnanimous."

"No!" Gabriel screams. "You cannot fall me! I am the head of this council in Michael's absence! I am your Lord!"

They keep chanting and John keeps translating, "Never again shall you walk the shining paths of the Holy City for the footprints you leave mar her beauty. Fire and shadow and death will be your companions now. We cast you into the unholy darkness. We cast you into the waiting maw of Hell. Unworthy! Inglorious! Unworthy! Inglorious!"

The last two words get repeated again and again as the feathers slough off of Gabriel's wings. He screams and clasps his hands over his ears, still holding his blade and the horn. His feet sink into the river of blood. He continues to sink, the blood rising past his knees, then his waist, then his chest, until he's disappeared beneath it. When he's gone, the chant finally stops.

Uriel looks over his shoulder at the rest of us, then back at Raphael. They don't talk, (probably don't have to), the only course of action is obvious. The three remaining archangels take to the air, flying past the hovering horsemen and out towards Manhattan. As they approach the city, the gleaming army rises out of the streets and starts its ascension. Hopefully they took care of all the demons over there because that'll save us a whole lot of trouble.

A weak cheer rises out of the remaining gods and goddesses. The tension that I've been gripped with for days slowly leaks out of my muscles. I manage a grin as I watch the others celebrate. War hardened and bloody, they still jump and hug and howl with their excitement. I look over at Boyscout and my grin fades.

'Scout has moved closer to the river of blood and is staring at the place where Gabriel disappeared. His armor is still intact and I can hear the rasp of metal on leather as he tightens his grip on his swords. His good wing is held high, trembling slightly. Something's wrong, really wrong. I focus on the spot in the river, but can't see anything but feathers drifting lazily in the tide. There's nothing there.

"Boyscout?" I ask as I move towards him. Very lightly because I don't want to startle him, I lay my flesh hand on his shoulder. "What's up, babe?"

"The horsemen aren't leaving."

I glance up. He's right, they aren't moving. The horses are throwing their heads and pawing the air anxiously, but their riders are completely stoic. They're just watching us. "First ones in, last ones out maybe?" I offer with a forced chuckle. It doesn't do anything to ease 'Scout, so I try for something a little more serious, "They'll leave. They're probably just ticked that they didn't get to do their jobs."

"Gabriel is the one that controls them," 'Scout says in a voice so deadly serious that I don't doubt him.

I ask anyway, "How can you be so sure?"

"Revelation. 'And the angel Gabriel sounded his trumpet and the four angels who had been kept ready for this very hour were released to kill a third of mankind'." 'Scout turns to look at me, but I can't see his eyes through the dark slit of the helmet. "They're waiting for his order."

"Crap."

The river starts to boil the moment the word leaves my mouth. His wings rise first, flinging red droplets as they open. All of the feathers are gone, replaced by thick, leathery skin and spines that follow the underlying bone. When his head comes to the surface, his hair is clinging to his face and shoulders, weighed down by the blood. His solid black eyes fix on me, and then John. There are no irises, no pupils, no whites, just the same liquidy blackness all the way through.

Gabriel walks out of the river, blood dripping from his armor and weapons. As he emerges, the celebration dies and the silence that follows is so thick that it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. John and I step away from the bank. My eyes go to the horn Gabriel's got clutched in his left hand. If we can take it from him before he uses it, maybe we can keep the fight between thirty some odd gods and him.

"You think you have had a victory here? Do you really believe you have saved these pathetic, worthless creatures?" Gabriel shouts, the muscles in his throat standing out with the force of his anger.

As he lifts the horn, I lunge. My stone fingers stretch out for the instrument, but Gabriel jerks back, pulling it out of my reach. His blade comes forward and slashes across my torso from my left shoulder all the way down to my right hip. The power behind the attack makes me spin sideways as I fall to my knees. I shout and grit my teeth, grappling with the burning pain.

Quicker than I can react, Gabriel brings his blade in at the level of my neck. Metal clangs sharply against metal and John's in front of me, blocking the killing blow. As the other gods rush forward to help, Gabriel launches into the air. He pulls the horn up and lets out a deafening blast.

That sound is the trigger. The horsemen barrel towards us like it's a fuckin' race, pulling out their swords and scythes. Gabriel just gets out of the way. He lands at the far end of the street, grinning like a maniac. The horsemen are a real threat, but he's the puppet master. We're going to be wasting our time trying to fight these things. But, it's really hard to ignore tons of horseflesh when it's in your way.

War lands first, his horse's hooves sparking against the cement as he comes down hard. With a katana in one hand and AK-47 in the other, he goes to town on the gods that come after him. His animal is nuts, almost worse than him. Its nose flares and it head-butts Ares in the chest with the metal armor it's wearing. The horse bites and kicks while the rider slashes and shoots. Bullets don't do much to the gods, but it hurts 'em enough to slow them down.

'Scout and I dart out of the way as the other three come down where we were standing. Demegov looks pointedly at us, his horse spewing green, noxious fumes out of its mouth and nose. I'm expecting some hard feelings to come our way. Then again, he got what he wanted, didn't he? Demegov said that he wanted his war to begin and now it has.

Either way, he's still an enemy. I wind up my stone hand and slam it hard into the side of the horse's head. It reels back with a whinny that spews more of that green shit. The horse stumbles back into Famine and she hisses at Demegov with annoyance. They both dive into the fight, Famine going after Athena and getting a spear tip to the stomach.

Demegov's horse leaps over 'Scout, the back hooves clearing his head by just a few inches. John tries to shoves his swords into the animal's belly as it goes by, but it's just a bit too far away. I snag the disk on 'Scout's back and yank him to me just as the horse tries to throw a quick kick at him.

"We have to kill Gabriel," I yell against the side of his helmet, hoping he can hear me over all this chaos. "Let them handle the horsemen."

John nods in acknowledgment and darts down the street, dodging the gods in his way. I'm right behind him, but not nearly as fast. The wound Gabriel caused is deep and bleeding heavily. I feel a little lightheaded, but I push it back. Don't have time for that now. I've just gotta make it until we can finish this.

I see Death coming out of the corner of my eye and shout at John, "At your three-o-clock!"

He skids to a stop as the pale horse charges into his path. It rears up, a scream that is nothing like a horse ripping from its open mouth. The skeleton that is Death regards us with the same grin that all skulls wear, but his seems more menacing. When the horse returns to all fours, Death reaches down for 'Scout. I dash forward and grab the bony arm before he can touch my lover. All of the strength drains out of my arm. My grip weakens. My arm goes numb and cold, the sensation spreading up to my shoulder and across my chest. I grunt and try to let go, but it's like holding onto something that's electrified. I can't open my hand.

"Red!" John shouts and shoves me backwards.

My hold on Death is so loose that I break away easily. I stumble back, rubbing at my shoulder to try and return the feeling to it. 'Scout comes with me and puts some distance between himself and Death. The skeleton straightens up on his mount, his smile looking decidedly more sinister.

Lazarus steps between the horseman and us, tossing over his shoulder, "Let me handle this."

Lazarus is the worst fighter I've ever met, but Death verses the man who can't die should be an even fight. Actually, it seems more like a pointless fight. Neither of them can win. Tossing his remaining sword in a quick circle, Lazarus approaches the pale horse with caution. Death's head tilts slightly to one side and the horse follows his action to the exact same angle. Maybe Lazarus confuses him. Hopefully it'll give him an edge.

I roll my stone hand around and get the worst case of pins and needles I've ever experienced. It's as bad as though I'd been lying on that arm for weeks. It's uncomfortable, but it's not as sharp a feeling as the wound on my chest. I can ignore it.

'Scout and I duck behind Lazarus's fight with Death. I tap 'Scout's arm and motion at an alley just to our right. We slip into it. If we want to catch Gabriel off guard, we're going to need to come at him from a different angle. Charging head on is not the best move. We take a left at the next street and run to the end of the block. Even with the buildings between the fight and us, I can still hear the sharp retort of War's gun.

We get to the last building in the row and 'Scout slows down to press his back against the brick. Edging his head around carefully, he takes a good look and leans back. The helm snaps off of his face and folds neatly away in the disk.

"Okay," John says with his exhale, making it more air than word. "We're far enough down the block that we'll come out behind Gabriel."

"That's good, 'cause we don't have any more block," I grunt and motion at the river.

We're up in an elbow of the waterline. The building we're hiding behind is the only one down this far, set on a bit of a peninsula. The road we're about to turn onto is the same road we were fighting the horsemen on. It just sorta bends around this building and continues to follow the river.

'Scout leans around the side of the building again, his voice dropping into a whisper, "So we're just going to go at him with everything we've got?"

I crouch down next to him and gently grab John's jaw, tilting his head back to me so I can look him in the eye, "I'll be the distraction again. You come in after I've got his attention on me and get him as fast as you can with those swords."

"Alright," he says after a long pause.

I take a second to just look at him, at the boyish features I know so well, at his deep, trusting gaze. He shifts his weight forward and I meet him in a kiss. Slowly, I ease my tongue along the inside of his mouth, pressing against his tongue in a deliberately tender dance. John's fingers brush against the side of my face and I almost smile when I realize that he took the time to take his gauntlets off.

When I know we've wasted too much time, I close my mouth and press my lips to his in a way that feels like we're saying goodbye. Against his mouth, I whisper, "Be safe."

'Scout shivers, his wings twitching with the action, and he turns his bright blue eyes to mine. He seems torn between calm and terror, standing on a line somewhere between. "You too."

I lunge to my feet and charge around the building. Gabriel turns, but I'm almost on him before he sees me. My stone hand crashes into his side, throwing him to the cement with enough force to crack it and his armor. I don't even get a breath in before he's up. I circle him and he follows the motion, his back turning to where John will come around the corner.

"You are the most miserable excuse of a demon I have ever come across," Gabriel spits at me. "You couldn't just lead the armies, no, you had to find a conscious."

I chuckle, "I'm fucking elated to disappoint you."

Growling, Gabriel dives at me with his curved blade. He's really fast, but I manage to block most of his attacks with my stone hand. When I get a chance, I lash out with it. I land a hit on his jaw that should've broken it, but doesn't, and then another in his ribs.

Out of nowhere, he smacks me with Michael's arm. I didn't even realize he'd managed to get it untied from his belt. I stagger from the hit, my gaze swimming a little. When I look up, there's two of him. I shake my head, but there's still two. I lunge in anyway. My first swing goes wide and misses both of them. One dodges to the left and the other goes right. I stick with the one that heads right since he seems more solid when I focus on him.

Gabriel's not even attacking me anymore; he just ducks out of the way of my punches and cackles. It's getting really damn annoying. Behind Gabriel, I spot John easing out into the open, his swords held at the ready.

Instead of attacking Gabriel, he freezes and shouts, "Red, look out!"

The Gabriel in front of me vanishes. Confused, I whip around to find a different Gabriel bringing his sickle down into my shoulder. The metal bites deep and I'm nearly blinded by the pain. I reach up to grab his arm, but I can't seem to find it. I fumble wildly as he shoves the blade in deeper.

The one thing I can see clearly is his grin. It nearly cuts his face in half when he states, "Demons are such fools for illusions."

- John

I came out into the open to find Red facing me, Gabriel standing behind him with a curved blade raised over his head. My heart flew into my throat as I screamed, "Red, look out!"

I run towards them as Red turns, but Gabriel's blade slams down into Red's shoulder. Blood sprays around the weapon, splashing onto Gabriel's face. Red falls to his knees and Gabriel says something to him that I can't hear.

Calm rushes over my panic. By the time I reach Gabriel, I feel no fear. I swing both of my swords at him and he has to release the weapon in Red's shoulder so he can move Michael's arm to defend himself. The metal clashes against the smooth stone, sending a few small chips of marble flying off onto the street. Gabriel uses the arm to shove me back. I regain my footing quickly, but he has enough time to grab a sword out of a sheath on his back.

Deep in me, I feel my power growing and pulsing, not unlike how it used to when I was a wolf. It spreads up through my chest, warm and comforting. I regard Gabriel coolly, calculating how slow he's going to be using Michael's stone hand as a shield.

Angry and limping slightly from the damage Red inflicted on him, Gabriel screams at me, "You were every bit the thorn in my side that Michael intended for you to be. And that damned armor!" His anger ebbs enough that he gets himself under control. When he speaks again, it's quiet but seething, "I will peel that armor from your bones and cast it into the pit of fire."

My muscles twitch as I wait for him to strike. The moment he moves for me, I dart forward. Our swords clash with a shower of sparks. Gabriel flings the stone hand around, but it's every bit as slow as I anticipated. I leap away, arching my back so the hand passes by my stomach without touching it. Using the position, I let myself settle into a crouch and push off with both feet. My shoulder bangs heavily into his chest.

Furious, Gabriel brings his sword in over my head with a scream, trying to shove the blade into my back. I tuck my wings and roll out of the way, dragging both of my swords against his side as I spin.

I sense more than see Red get to his feet. I don't know what he's doing and I can't risk looking over to find out. Gabriel drops Michael's arm and takes his sword with two hands, gaining speed I'd hoped he wouldn't. His attacks come faster and harder. One slash comes right through a seam in the armor, gashing my side. My cry of pain makes Gabriel smile.

With a roar, Hellboy grabs Gabriel from behind, hooking his arms up underneath Gabriel's. The fallen archangel doesn't stay prone long enough for me to attack. He lets a wave of darkness out of his skin that engulfs both of us. It hits me like a sledgehammer, knocking the air out of my lungs. I fall flat, unable to breathe, unable to see. My scream doesn't even reach my own ears.

My power rushes through every limb and blasts outward with light that eradicates the shadow. Only once it's gone can I draw air into my lungs. Instead of draining me like the last time I used that attack, it makes me feel stronger. I jump to my feet, my attention focused solely on Gabriel. Hellboy has fallen back, or was knocked back by the shadows. When he moves to grab Gabriel again, I shake my head. He furrows his brow, his lips parting with the question he's dying ask.

"It is time, brother, to finish what you began," I say to Gabriel, my mouth moving without any instruction from my mind. The words come from somewhere I can't fathom. The only thing I'm certain of is that they're not mine.

My power pulses and grows. My helm is filled with the light from my eyes. Another being is in my head, driving my actions, but it's not frightening. His presence is familiar. I walk forward, driven by the other's will.

Gabriel's expression fades from smug, to shocked, to frightened. His liquid, black eyes going as wide as they're capable of. His wings flare and tremble as he backs away from me. "No, no, you couldn't have survived. I killed you."

"You killed a shell," I, or I guess, he answers. "I had already broken my power into two parts and spread them in places where I knew they would be reunited."

"The armor and the boy," Gabriel sputters.

"Yes, brother."

Having backed all the way to the blood river, Gabriel drops his sword and falls to his knees in front of me, "Mercy, Michael. I beg of you, mercy."

"There will be no mercy for the slayer of innocents."

Michael knows his brother better than to believe that he'd give up so easily and his knowledge is my knowledge. I'm expecting it when Gabriel produces a small blade and leaps at me. My swords are ready for him. I bring both forward simultaneously, catching his neck between them. I step aside as his head departs from his shoulders, letting it roll into the street. The body lands gracelessly. His wings spasm for several moments after he's dead.

"John?" Hellboy asks, worry lacing his voice.

For the moment, I don't answer. I pick up the horn from Gabriel's belt and call the horsemen to me. They break away from their battles and trot over, making a line a few feet from me. In the only language they know, I give them their final instructions and release them. Even before the horsemen return to their otherworld plane, the humans littering the streets begin to recover.

A faint line begins to shimmer in the air beside them. It opens as War steps forward, becoming a portal into a very dark world. They step through it one at a time, Demegov casting a hateful look over his shoulder as he leaves. The last one to go is Death. His horse paws the ground a moment as Death stares out at the battlefield. There's no guessing what he's thinking about. When he steps through the seam in the air, it closes quietly behind him.

Michael's voice turns inward and I know he's speaking directly into my mind, "Using you was a betrayal of Anung un Rama's trust. I'm aware that he will never forgive me, but tell him that I am sorry anyway."

"I will," I whisper out loud.

The armor peels away from my back and steps forward of its own volition. It reshapes to cover the void I've left on the inside. I watch, mesmerized, as the plating in the back folds over on itself again and again, growing outward. The plates continue to multiply and spread out into two large triangular shapes that flank the disk. Once they're complete, the solid metal wings start flapping and the armor lifts into the air.

Light gleams brilliantly through the crevices as it rises. When the helm folds away, Michael's golden hair spills out of it. He turns and nods to us, then continues his long ascension into the Heavens. I feel strangely empty in his absence.

"Son of a bitch," Red mutters, not so much angry as awestruck.

I turn to him and smile, "He did what he had to do. Gabriel had to be exposed to the others before he could kill him."

Very gingerly, Red sits down on the cement, his flesh hand gripping his shoulder wound tightly. Suddenly, he falls back unconscious. My heart leaps into my throat as I run to him. I lift his head and put my legs underneath him so I prop him up a little.

"I need a healer!" I shout in the direction of the other gods and then look back down at Red.

I carefully lift his hand away from the wound so I get a better look at it. It's deep, but it stops at his clavicle. It didn't even enter his ribcage. I furrow my brow, knowing Red should've been able to take a lot more damage than that. Even the gash running across his chest is just a scratch next to some of the other damage he's taken. A faint smile turns up the corners of his mouth and I have to resist the urge to hit him.

"Red, you scared the living hell out of me!"

He laughs heartily and opens his eyes, saying, "You do it to me all the time."

"I do NOT!" I hiss defensively.

Red continues to chuckle and curls his flesh hand around my arm, stroking absently.

My anger start fading, but I still manage an irritated, "You suck."

"Only on our anniversary."

That throws me for a second. I have to wrack my brain to try and remember any occasion when HB has given me head. Nothing comes to mind. "Since when? I don't remember that."

He smiles lazily, "30th."

I groan and smack his good shoulder with the back of my hand, grumbling, "That's it? You're counting one anniversary?"

We both sit there and watch the soldiers getting to their feet. The emptiness I felt when Michael departed is leaving me. It's replaced by contentment as I close my eyes and enjoy Red's touch running gently up and down my arm. I slide my fingers across his chest so I can feel the steady beat of his heart.

Red's voice breaks into our shared silence, "I could really use a vacation."

I don't open my eyes when I answer, I just smile, "Yeah… me too."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxx Epilogue xxxxxxxxxxxx  
**

- John

Once the media was done mourning the loss of New York and her people, a new celebrity sensation began to rise: benign supernatural beings. The government finally had to admit to the existence of the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense and the unnatural agents that run it. For the first time in his life, Hellboy was acknowledged for his work by the general public, just like Abe.

Life is so different now that we don't have to hide, but it doesn't affect everyone the way I was expecting. We had lunch with Anubis on Tuesday. He doesn't have any intention on living with people in his true form. He's still running that tiny antique shop in Cairo as a simple businessman.

The Society, on the other hand, loves it. Torque gets free food pretty much wherever he goes and Lazarus has been talking with a huge number of historical groups trying to put his past together. Yvette's not much different either way. The fame doesn't really reach Eon and her brood since they moved out to an empty stretch of Russian wilderness where her family could be wolves and not be bothered. I'm a little jealous of that. Sometimes I wish I could still run with them.

From what I've gathered second-hand from a few different sources, Athena is working for the Marines. I guess she missed being in battle situations a little more than she realized. First and foremost, she is a goddess of war. I think she sold her olive farm in Greece, but I can't say that with any certainty.

What's left of the Norse has vanished into the cosmos. I suspect Thor took over his father's position at Valhalla's great table, but we've never got an invitation to return and I doubt we ever will. They've always been a solitary group of gods so there's no need to be involved in the lives of humans more than necessary.

Abe, well, Abe is thrilled to be able to go in the libraries of the world. Every interview we catch on TV about him has a backdrop of books. He never had a limit as to what was available to him at the Bureau, but there's just something wholesome about sitting in a quiet library and enjoying everything it has to offer. He's been working some with scholars in the major schools to help further their knowledge of the supernatural world. His knowledge on the subject is unmatched, so he's definitely the best on for it. And, frankly, I think he enjoys having someone listen to him with all the interest and intensity with which he approaches the subject.

Red and I are a different story. While we can go out in the open now, we practically get mobbed by people wanting pictures and autographs. As nice as it is to have dinner out or go to a movie (not that HB fits in the stadium chairs at your average theatre), Red gets too uncomfortable with all the attention. Mostly, we stay home.

Every once in a while, he talks about going somewhere warm and sunny for our belated honeymoon. Though he means it, he acts as if it's an unachievable dream because traveling is a pain in the ass for him, and no matter where we go, we're recognized.

He doesn't know that I've got reservations for a condo that has its own private stretch of beach on one of the smaller Hawaiian Islands I can't pronounce. I've got it booked for a month. It cost me a small fortune, but we're making a lot of money as private contractors, destroying all the stray demons that turn up. It's MUCH better than ghost hunting.

We've got an interview set up at the house and I can't stop fiddling. Red chased me out of the bathroom after I was in there over half an hour trying to get my hair to lay just right. It's just a magazine interview, but I have no idea whether or not they're going to want to take pictures. I'd rather be prepared than get surprised with a cowlick and an upturned collar.

I hear Red come up behind me as I straighten the decorative crap on the kitchen table one more time. I only bought these stupid 'homey touches' like decorative candles and bowls full of fake fruit because we have company coming and I will not hire a decorator. HB and I usually like things a bit more simple. Most of our house is adorned with warm, brown leather furniture and matte-steel and glass surfaces.

Red's wide palm stretches across my stomach, his fingers working between the buttons of my shirt. Lips touch the back of my neck and I have to groan pleasantly at the contact.

"Red, don't," I half-heartedly try to stop him even as I lean against the wall of his body. I tilt my head back so his mouth has better access and he latches instantly on the taut muscle of my throat and starts sucking. "That Times magazine guy is going to be here at two."

"It's only one-thirty," he growls enticingly in my ear, his flesh hand making quick work of the front of my shirt. His calluses scrape against the skin of my chest, making me quiver.

My argument is more moan than anything as his thumb brushes firmly against a nipple, "You know that's not enough time for you."

"It's enough for you."

I grip the edge of the table to steady myself when he yanks my slacks down to my feet. Then his tongue is gliding over the backs of my thighs. He licks up one leg slowly, taking his time to drag his teeth down the sensitive flesh along the inside. I exhale a series of stuttered breaths, trying to remember what I was saying to him.

"You know you won't be able to-" I pause while he spins me around and lifts me just enough to push my ass onto the table so I'm seated.

"I won't be able to what?" Red asks and kneels in front of me, a very evil grin on his face.

"You won't be able to leave it at- Oh GOD!"

The argument dies in my head and in my mouth as Red takes my erection down his throat in one move. My spine curves almost involuntarily. I reach back to brace myself up, knocking the expensive candles to the floor. Right now, I couldn't care less. It's been a VERY long time since Red did this for me and I forgot how fucking phenomenal it is.

I try to keep my eyes open to watch my pale length disappear into his hot mouth, but they keep fluttering shut. My orgasm is already ridiculously close, which is embarrassing. Normally I last a lot longer, but Red can do some amazing things with his tongue. He swirls it around my dick, creating enough suction that I swear he's trying to suck my insides through my penis like a straw.

Wrapping his fingers around my hips hard enough to bruise, he bobs his head and grabs my gaze with his. His eyes are almost feral with lust, his pupils blown wide. That look drags me to the edge. My legs are shaking. My toes curl. I don't even realize that the gasping, broken moans filling the room are coming from me until he pulls off with a smirk and comments on them.

"Can't say I've heard you make that sound before."

I'm not capable of forming any kind of response. I try to push myself upright and seize the back of his head to encourage a little less talk, but he gets to his feet and tugs roughly at his belt. As much as I like getting a blowjob, I'm just fine with this school of thought as well. I grab his pants and yank him closer so I can get the button and fly undone. The moment his cock is free, I latch onto his mouth and press my tongue against his. It takes me a half a second to recognize the salty taste as me. I haven't gone off yet, but he's probably swallowed a good bit of pre-come.

Red lifts me off the table and I wrap my legs around him, grinding down against his dick so it's sliding through my cleft. He stumbles a bit, probably not sure where he's going to put me for this. We could do it standing, he's plenty strong enough to hold me up, but he can get a lot more leverage against a surface.

My back comes to rest against something cold enough that I yelp in surprise. I glance over my shoulder to find that he's pressed me to our stainless-steel fridge. There are going to be so many smudges to clean off later. Red's tail wriggles into me and I'd laugh if I wasn't so busy groaning. He pre-lubed it.

"What were y…you planning on doing with that if I'd said no?" I manage to stutter as he rubs the tip of his tail against my prostate.

His confidence is not all that surprising, "You weren't gonna say no."

I let out a sharp cry and bury my face in his shoulder, pleasure wracking through me. "I… I might… have."

"That's the beauty of it, baby," Red croons with a self-assured smile. "I always know whether or not you're going to be up for it."

He pushes his tail in farther, deeper, making it writhe like a snake on a hot plate. I'm literally falling apart in his hands and he hasn't even gotten to the best part yet. My shouts of ecstasy make his dick pulse against my stomach. Every scream he wrings out of me goes straight to his groin. Red gets off on getting me off. I suppose it's a sign of a good relationship. I've nearly come watching his eyes roll back in his head as I've jerked him off before, so it goes both ways.

Red kisses me, but it's not the passionate, lust-fueled tongue fuck that we were indulging in just moments ago; it's tender and sweet. I swear he only kisses me like that when there's something going on. My orgasm swims out of reach and my eyes snap open as confusion takes over my mind.

Red opens his eyes more slowly and then he pulls away with a surprised, "What? Why're you lookin' at me like that?"

"What's going on?"

His tail unwinds from my body as he tilts my hips up a bit. "Nothin', baby," he says nonchalantly just before he plunges into me.

He's stretched me enough with his tail that the pain is minimal, but being filled that quickly still causes a hell of a lot of sensation. I bang my head on the fridge when I throw it back, my mouth falling open as I keep gasping in more air without letting any out. My lungs full to capacity, I release a long moan and fist HB's shirt in my hands while I get adjusted.

His first thrust is shallow, just an experiment to see if I'm ready. The second I push down onto and by the third, he's started a fast pace that won't last too long. I don't mind though. We don't really have time for anything other than a quickie.

Red's goatee brushes against my jaw when he leans in to talk quietly in my ear, "Found some paperwork while I was goin' through your desk, says something about Lana'i and a private condo."

"You-" I have to stop and gasp as he scrapes hard against my prostate on an inward stroke. "You were snooping through me desk?"

He shrugs and bites on my ear, "I was lookin' for a pencil."

"Liar. That was supposed to be a surprise."

Red sits back and gives me a wide, semi-innocent grin that he isn't pulling off. "I'm surprised, can't you tell?"

Rolling my eyes at his antics, I grab his neck to haul him down to me so I can keep kissing him. I'm used to this kind of behavior by now. Trying to keep a secret from Red is like trying to keep gossip from spreading at a senior center bridge game. It's impossible. I'm just glad he wants to go. I was a little worried about the whole 'being surrounded by water' thing. He won't swim at the beach, but that's not going to stop us from lying out in the sand… probably naked. Good thing the beach is private.

Red picks up his pace and bites down on my shoulder, just hard enough to sting, but not enough to do any real damage. The pain shoots through me to mingle with the intense pleasure coming up my body in waves. They play well together, making my balls tighten and bringing me that much closer.

I'm muttering nonsense, trying to warn Red that I'm close, when the doorbell rings. Red doesn't stop, doesn't even pause, though I know he heard it. I hold my wrist above Hellboy's head so I can see my watch.

"Fuck, they're early," I pant.

The doorbell rings again, but this time Hellboy yells toward the entryway, "Hold your damn horses, I'll be there in a minute!" His voice is annoyed, almost angry. Heaven forbid anything gets in the way of Red getting off, especially Times reporters.

He goes back at it with renewed vigor, adjusting my hips so he can sink in a little deeper on each thrust. The new position sends sparks flying behind my eyelids. My head hits the fridge again as I shout at the ceiling. My yells get louder with every thrust. Some part of me knows they can hear me on the other side of the door, but I just can't seem to care, not when Red's got his teeth gritted together and his brow furrowed in such dedicated concentration. He's getting very close.

I reach down between us and my fingers brush against his on the way to my cock. I start to pull my hand back and let him have the reigns, but he grabs my fingers and wraps both our hands around the base. His left hand is so much bigger than mine is, completely enveloping it as he guides my hand up and down my own shaft.

A few jerks are really all it takes before I'm spurting over my chest and our hands. My drawn out scream probably sends the reporters running. Red thrusts a few more times and then I can feel his release, hot and thick, filling me. His pleased growl is much more subdued than my shouting.

Red draws his half-hard cock out of me and his semen starts crawling down the inside of my legs. I cringe as I realize I shouldn't have let him talk me into this, I'm going to have to shower before I can present myself to anyone. I don't really regret it, since it was amazing, but I definitely need to bath.

Before I can say anything, Red starts licking the come off my chest. By the time he's gotten every drop off my skin, I'm already getting hard again. I try to will it away, knowing our interviewer is still standing outside. At least, I think he's still standing outside. We could've chased him off very easily.

Red sets me on the floor and kneels to lap at the come between my legs. That makes me blush. "HB, just get a washcloth," I groan, partially because he's doesn't do this often, and partially because it's making me even harder.

"Rather clean you myself," he growls and grips my ass with both hands, spreading my cheeks.

I let out a stuttered sigh that's meant to be exasperated but comes out with a lot more of my arousal than I'd intended. HB shifts his weight onto his heels so he can grin up at me.

"You ready for more?"

I am. I am SO ready for more, but we can't. Regrettably, I shake my head, "He hasn't rung the bell for a while, but I bet he's still out there."

Red doesn't hide his disappointment. He nuzzles my bare stomach and gives my skin a parting kiss before helping me back into my pants. It's a few minutes before I can get my appearance together to my liking and get to the entryway. I yank open the heavy, walnut door with an apology ready on my tongue. I don't get a chance to use it.

The young blonde man on the porch gives me a million-dollar smile I'm sure he practices every day and says, "Geez, I wish my boyfriend could make me scream like that."

My face flushes and I'm stunned into silence for a moment. He breaks it by sticking out his hand, which I take automatically.

"I'm Geoffrey Winston, I'm going to be writing the article on the two of you," he introduces himself and shoots me another winning smile.

I step out of the door and motion for him to come in. Leading him into the living room, I follow the pleasantries, "I'm John Myers. We're happy to have you. Would you like a drink? We've got soda, beer, water…"

He politely declines me and surveys our home, picking up a photo of the BPRD team we have sitting on the mantel. It's a photo from when Liz was still alive, one of Red's favorites. The reporter talks loosely as he walks around, "You know, it's funny how little of you I can find in the media. Most of the stories focus on Hellboy, but in the clips I've seen, you're always right at his elbow. Guess he kind of overshadows you."

"Protects me is more like it. HB has had the Bureau be very discreet with how much information they let the media have. I wanted to remain a bit anonymous in all this." I point at the couch I bought last weekend just for this visit. "Please, sit down."

He does and I perch on the armrest of HB's favorite chair. "Why do you want to be anonymous? You played a big part in the battle for New York. There's some awesome footage of you in that armor."

"You know about the armor?" I ask, genuinely surprised.

Geoffrey leans forward, fishing a small notepad and a pen out of his back pocket, "I'm a reporter, Mr. Myers, I know a lot of stuff…" His wandering gaze catches on my left hand. "You two married?"

"Not officially or anything. The state doesn't really know how to even classify us since we're not human, let alone getting through the whole same-sex thing." I sigh and smile, rotating the silver band on my finger. "But we hardly need a slip of paper from the government telling us that we're committed."

"No, of course not," he nods.

HB comes in wearing a fresh shirt but the same pants. I spot a very small fleck of white near the fly and have to bite my lip to keep from smirking. The reporter stands as HB enters, his eyes traveling up to his horns almost instantly. He only lingers on them a second, but his gaze goes to HB's tail next, and then to his hand. The things that have always made him stick out still throw people for a loop when they see him in person.

The reporter gets past it without too much trouble, holding out his hand, "I'm Geoffrey."

Red holds up his right hand, palm facing the man, "You probably don't want to do that."

His smile deflates a touch and his hand drops a fraction of an inch. He regains his composure quickly, the smile snapping back into place. "No problem," Geoffrey answers smoothly. The kid could have a future in politics, he's very good at bluffing when he's freaked out. I don't know how bothered he actually is by any of this, which is probably part of the point. Reporters usually like to keep people relaxed so they'll answer questions more candidly.

Red falls into the chair next to me, spreading out and making himself comfortable. I draw his left hand into my lap and slide my thumb over his ring. Our rings are much smoother since I took them to get polished.

"So, where do you want to start?" I ask once Geoffrey is settled with the pad of paper open on his leg.

He taps the pen on his jaw, studying some notes in the journal, "Well, let's start at the beginning."

HB snorts and we trade glances, "That's a helluva long story, kid."

- End

When I pulled out a journal at a red light a few years ago because a line popped into my head from Hellboy's mouth, I had no idea what it was going to become. For those of you who have been following this story from the very beginning (if there are any of you left), you've been reading this endeavor for a little over three years.

I'd like to thank the many betas and readers I've had, and I'd especially like to thank the handful of people that stopped by to leave me reviews time and again. Your comments were both inspiring as well as constructive.

For those of you interested in the length of this story, the stats fall as so:

Somewhere Between comes in a little over 82,000 words, that's approximately 235 pages in a book.

Between the Lines comes in just above 53,500, just about 155 pages in a book.

And Lines of Shadow comes in at a whopping 104,200, making it about 300 pages in a book.

That means that the entire series is almost as long as the Order of the Phoenix in the Harry Potter series (Just to use a reference that we've all probably hefted in our hands at one point or another).

I'm not positive whether or not this will be a farewell of sorts for me. I do want to pursue some of my original work, so I will definitely be taking a hiatus from fan fiction. More than likely, some unforgiving plot bunny will bite me in the ass sooner or later, so I doubt I'll be gone forever. I might try to go back to some of the unfinished stories I have floating around in my archive, but I can't make any promises. Some of them just don't hold any interest for me anymore, but I WILL try.

So again, thanks to all of you who decided to click on the link and get sucked into my mad world. I hope you enjoyed everything I had to offer.


	19. Update

Quick update. I went through and added more to the epilogue to help give y'all a better idea of what happened to the others. If you want, go take a look.


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